


Children of Monsters

by KKGlinka



Series: Red Skies [3]
Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:45:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 64,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KKGlinka/pseuds/KKGlinka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bonnibel wants peace, the humans want control, Finn wants to know the enemy and Marceline wants to avoid hurting far-removed loved ones. But between arch-demons, allies, pawns and that pesky issue of divine succession, fear is inevitable. And while hate can be disastrous, love can be monstrous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Third in the "Red Skies" series after [3:1-15](http://archiveofourown.org/works/628512) and [Diplomatic Measures](http://archiveofourown.org/works/629127). Special thanks to [slashpony](http://slashpony.tumblr.com/) for editing and [revelationdis](http://revelationdis.tumblr.com//) for assistance with demon mythology.

Bonnibel was jotting down notes in a tattered notebook that bore a cocoa ring when the hair on her nape prickled. She looked up from her notes to regard the lab around her. She searched for anything out of place, any object that had shifted or fallen. Nothing was moving except for the slow drip from the counter faucet which had a degraded sealant ring. She'd been meaning to replace it. 

The unease crawled down her shoulders and she resisted the urge to turn toward the high, open air windows. It was early, almost dawn, which made it an unlikely time for creeping visitors. But, it was possible. So she removed her glasses and folded them on her desk, lenses facing the windows. 

Bending over her journal again, she made as if scanning the pages while keeping a sharp eye on the twin reflections from her glasses. Sure enough, an amorphous shape materialized, a dark cloud that gradually took on a roughly humanoid shape. She snapped the notebook shut, smiling smugly at having been correct. The person behind her jumped visibly at the report, lifting high into the air defensively. 

"You're not going to fly off, are you, Marcy?" 

From behind her, Marceline grumbled something in disgruntled disappointment, but her teeth flashed white in a reflected grin. 

Bonnibel knew this game. It could go one of several ways. She might reject Marceline on grounds that her workday would soon begin and she needed the remaining time to clean and dress appropriately. She might be more gentle and offer a sympathetic comment and fond touch before sending the vampire off. Or she could beckon her closer and draw the woman, if she was shaped like one, into a needy, repressed kiss. 

They could make out until Peppermint Butler knocked urgently on the lab doors, summoning Bonnibel to her duties. They could shove the notebook and several beakers to the floor in their haste. Marceline would snarl at the interruption and slide her hands underneath the crisp cloth and softer silks, curling and working her fingers just so. She would trap Bonnibel's mouth in a deep, demanding kiss, wicked teeth so careful, and swallow her muffled cries. 

Bonnibel would peel off her lab coat, dropping it to the floor and hike her skirts out of the way so she could wrap her legs around Marceline's hips. She would bury her hands in that ridiculous, inky hair and guide Marceline's lips to the most sensitive hollows of her neck. She would ignore the sound of her crown falling on the stone floor and Marceline punting it aside under the desk. She would show the teasing, mischievous and infuriatingly disrespectful woman exactly what she wanted. 

She might choose that for a change, but she knew the routine, this script, except... Something wasn't right. Something didn't make sense and she spun her chair to face Marceline, mind whirring over the stubborn equation. Something. 

Marceline wasn't quite human this time, her edges blurring in flux. Fur rippled and disappeared replaced by scales or blue-gray skin. Membranous wings appeared from her back, then grew black feathers and folded away to vanish entirely. Her arms and legs split apart into dark tentacles, twisting and winding like vines or faceless snakes before plaiting together into limbs, and back again. 

Though she had never witnessed Marceline shifting so continuously outside of an injury that forced her to displace critical organs, it was her face and head that caught Bonnibel's attention. It was vaguely lupine, nose and jaw pulling out to accommodate larger teeth, ears furling out like a bat's. All that was normal but two hooked goat horns sprouted from her tangled black hair. They remained in place, along with red slit pupils in solid yellow-green eyes. The two features remained constant and alien as Marceline morphed, floating in a slow arc around Bonnibel's desk. 

Bonnibel cocked her head, acutely aware of being measured and analyzed. No, admired. Marceline should have said something by now. She should have asked for attention, a timid inquiry disguised as a quip. She shouldn't have those eyes. She shouldn't have horns. She shouldn't be gazing longingly at the rising sun, pink shafts of light striking the side of her body without harm. 

"Oh," Bonnibel said, smiling as all her anxiety bled away amidst the freedom of desire. "This is a dream." 

She relaxed into the familiar dream, the choice she never made in life revisiting her in sleep. But those eyes and horns, what an odd twist. Why would her mind add those details? Her logic muddled to a stop, wandering away in sleep. Later, she told herself. She could analyze the symbolism or curious fascination later, when she woke. 

Right now, Marceline was shoving the desk casually aside as if it were a mere paper-weight. She closed the distance quickly, dropping herself to trap Bonnibel against the chair without hesitation, without her usual gentleness. She was a black amoeba wrapping herself around Bonnibel and invading her clothing before any protest was possible. 

Bonnibel gasped and tried to bat at a tentacle in surprise over the aggression, dimly aware that it was futile. The tentacle wrapped around her wrist and held out her arm. Another caught her by the head, pulling it back to expose her neck. Her lips parted on a protest, a warning, an order. Another gasp as her body was flooded with fear and excitement simultaneously. 

Marceline nuzzled her jaw, breathing to tickle behind her ear, slowing in response to the rigid panic. She kept her grip on Bonnibel's arms and legs, but didn't pull, nibbling at a pink earlobe until Bonnibel shuddered. Grazing touches against her ribs, belly and thighs left her trembling. Exhaling quietly, she angled her head to the side, exposing her neck to light nips and licks. Closing her eyes, she relaxed in Marceline's grip, spreading her legs when she felt the nudge against her knees. 

A dream, she reminded herself, as flesh slid under her dress, splitting the fabric easily, brushing it aside perfunctorily. Her skin and nerves leapt, her body jerking in response to the warm grazes, kneading pressure and lighter touches. Hands could only be in two places at once, one if the other was needed for balance. Marceline could be everywhere at once and Bonnibel's hands trembled in their warm bindings. 

She licked her lips, sighing, arching as much as she could with growing pleasure. She might have stood except she was bodily grasped, Marceline wrapping her arms and legs to haul her effortlessly into the air. It was impossible to struggle or fight, to resist in any way, except verbally. 

"Marcy, not that I'm complaining but what-" 

Her words jumbled into a low moan as she tried to press her hips against whatever was feathering so slightly. She wondered if this was why people prayed to imaginary deities as she felt the slick slide, the building, tense ache. So fast but, oh, it had been so long. 

"Marcy," she tried again after catching her breath, not sure what she wanted to say. Stop? Keep going? Hold tight? Release me? 

A tentacle darted into her mouth, choking off the uncertain protest. Bonnibel bit down in reflexive fury, aghast that Marceline would so callously dismiss her choice. The tip wriggled playfully in response, taunting her inability to complain. A dream, she reminded herself absently. Who was she fighting? Her subconscious? How foolish. She could meditate on it later when she wasn't struggling to gain more contact and friction. 

She relaxed her jaw, swallowing around the intrusion, licking to feel smooth skin. It pressed back in response but didn't invade further to gag or cause any strain. Her mind cartwheeled over Marceline's notion of consideration as she bit down unintentionally at a wash of electric sensation. She twisted her hips against Marceline's grip, wanting grinding pressure, more. 

She fought to arch, muscles clenching until they trembled, jerked and released. The frustrated need culminating into muffled groans. No one would hear. When Marceline pressed in harder, rubbing, vibrating…. Vibrating? How could she even…. Bonnibel's muscles quivered, flexed tight as something slid easily past her labia, inside to distend and she stopped caring about the racket she was making. 

She curled her fingers, left blessedly free, clasping around whatever held her wrists. Her nails sank deep as Marceline withdrew and set a slow rhythm that Bonnibel couldn't match except with her voice. The sounds she made became a begging litany, skin heating until sweat permitted her to writhe, until she choked on saliva. 

She sucked in a desperate gulp of air as the tentacle in her mouth withdrew promptly, shrinking down into nothing. Bonnibel tipped her head back keening freely, the idea of sound more than reality. She could feel it, so close and pleaded for more, inarticulate sounds running together. 

When she opened her eyes, Marceline was watching her curiously, a perplexed frown creasing her heavy brow, though she kept an easy rhythm to the pitch and pattern of sound. Those demonic eyes remained implacable but her face was serious as she moved, answering Bonnibel's pleas. 

The orgasm wrenched her body, muscles cramping when they couldn't move, winding tight inside and out. She knew she cried out, devolved into whimpers when Marceline kept going with rapid, even motions drawing out the climax until Bonnibel was gasping to breathe past the pressure in her chest. And it was as her body was going slack, the fluttering spikes inside slowing, that Marceline bit her. 

It wasn't a dainty, twin-fanged nip but a full-jawed clamp around her entire neck. Bonnibel's eyes flew open as she resisted the grip, struggling. Teeth sank into either side of her neck nearly crushing her trachea. They went deep as a tongue licked at the hot rush of blood tickling its way down to her collarbone. 

"Marceline," she whispered. "Marcy? What are you doing? Marcy?" 

Marceline tightened her jaw and the band around Bonnibel's head, ignoring the question. Another tentacle wrapped around her eyes and everything she felt came into sharp focus. Marceline was growling, moving again but unsteadily. She rocked hard and fast, disinterested in pleasing, taking instead. Bonnibel willed herself to go limp, breathing in time to the grunts and growls. 

When the tentacles around her legs slipped, she wrapped them around any available purchase, bracing and holding. This was a really weird dream, she concluded, answering with surprised whimpers. Surely it should have hurt. It should have been too much, too hard, too rough but she was moaning again, legs wrapping more fiercely. 

She worried at the tentacles binding her hands, digging in her fingers, releasing as she felt inexorably building tension. Her breath was coming in short pants when she felt the teeth in her neck and shoulder shift, a shallower grip, though still possessive and restraining. She angled her hips upward searching for completion but Marceline slowed marginally. The hand-like grip on her butt flexed. It shifted to wrap further, the tickle that made her gasp her only warning. 

"Marcy, don't you dare… You…" she tried again, her voice dying on the intended insult. 

The growls vibrating against her throat rumbled with sub-glottal laughter. 

She squeaked and jerked against the invasive touch and another tentacle touched her lips in warning. She bared her teeth and growled right back, a puny sound that had Marceline shaking with laughter against her chest. She fisted her hands at the intrusion easing inside slickly with every rocking motion that had Bonnibel arching. The shocking new sensation blending with everything else, nerves spiking until she bore down, too desperate for air and deaf to anything except the blood rushing in her ears. Too much. Her hands flexed spasmodically, reaching and grasping at empty air. 

Marceline was shaking, devolving into whimpers and mewls as her body jumped and jerked. She released her grip on Bonnibel's neck with a harsh gasp, body spasming as she wrapped herself tight around her. 

Bonnibel felt blood ooze and drip unimpeded down her shoulder under panting respiration. She also felt the throbbing ache of a thwarted orgasm and whined in protest. Hooking a freed leg firmly around Marceline, she ground upward, seeking purchase. 

Marceline raised her head in curiosity. She squinted one eye, peering at Bonnibel as if she were out of place or some oddity. Then Bonnibel felt an inquisitive press against her clit, a silent offer. 

"Oh glob, yes please," she answered in a rush. 

With another quizzical look, Marceline eased the grip on Bonnibel's arms, allowing her to fold in exhausted muscles. Cradling her in an amorphous grip, still floating, Marceline allowed her to set a quick, efficient rhythm. 

Bonnibel wrapped her arms and legs around her, unafraid of falling, using her voice to guide the pace. She only needed a minute, just a minute, as she felt Marceline lap at her neck and shoulders. She grabbed handfuls of fur, grasping and mumbling through the thick haze and involuntary spasms, and her head swam, thoughts scattering in pleasure. As she sighed in relief, grip slackening, she felt Marceline rolling them over mid-air to provide support. 

Bonnibel let out another groan, this one of self-pity. She was sore, surely bruised, but couldn't feel any of the pain or discomfort that should have accompanied it. She knew where her body was strained past its biological limits, but the pain was incorporeal. It was an idea of pain, like the knowledge of her chewed up neck. It should have been agonizing, would have been in waking life. Instead, free to ignore such trifling details, she lolled, feeling like a wrung rag. 

Marceline curled a hand into Bonnibel's hair and traced a finger down beneath her ear, along her neck. The knowledge that her neck was mauled faded into a secure realization that it was healed and whole. 

Bonnibel heaved herself up, bracing her hands on Marceline's shoulders. Or rather, the general area where her shoulders ought to be in relation to her head. "You're something else," she grumbled, undecided if she meant that as an insult or compliment. 

Marceline opened her eyes, sleepy contentment becoming a faint, puzzled frown. "Weird." 

"Weird? I'm weird?” 

"You keep talking," Marceline mused, as if to herself. 

"Well, I can be rather opinionated, especially when someone decides she's going to stick things everywhere she can," Bonnibel admitted, sarcasm lacing her tone. "Why am I even arguing with you? Oh my glob, I'm talking to myself." 

Marceline's befuddled expression deepened as a cloud blocked the sun outside, throwing a shadow over both of them. She blinked languidly, drawing a hand down Bonnibel's side, circling over her hip and back up again to settle around a supple breast. Her chest rose and fell on an unnecessary breath, a moody sigh. 

"Let me down," Bonnibel ordered mildly. 

Though her brows lowered instantly in aggravation, Marceline did as bid, allowing Bonnibel to slide feet first to the floor. As she floated backward, her body resumed a fully humanoid shape, skin slate gray, black hair snaking around with a will of its own. The sun hit her again, throwing slim curves into shadowed relief. 

Bonnibel bit her lip, standing in nothing but a lab coat and indoor slippers, the bulk of her clothing in tatters scattered around the office chair. She fought to keep her respiration even as butterflies danced in her gut, sending an electric tingle through her skin, out through every nerve ending. That reaction, so arbitrary, so debilitating, because she was looking at a woman. Why that one? Because she appeared more human than any of the more acceptable candy people? Bonnibel had gone her entire life without being waylaid by the vagaries of lust. What had Marceline done to her? 

Her nipples brushed against white fabric and she felt a pang deep inside, followed by a very physical twitch of sensitive muscle that made her shudder. She exhaled suddenly, a breath she'd been holding unaware, and licked her lips. If Marceline would drift closer, she would grab hold and drag her down to the desk. She wanted to take those petite breasts in her hands and watch Marceline arch up into her grip, dark lips parted in need rather than curled in that familiar smirk. Wiping her palms against her coat, she looked away, anywhere but at those tempting curves and hollows, the slash of cheekbones underlining wide, inhuman eyes regarding her intently. That was a woman who could have anyone she wanted on a whim without rejection. 

Bonnibel was aware of her own intelligence, her accomplishments in government, politics, technical arts and the scientific field. She had learned the hard way that those attributes were not attractive to most suitors but rather a source of envy and insecurity. They had wanted the pretty, giggling princess, not the stern, perceptive tactician hidden behind those frilly dresses and tea cups. 

Surely that damn, gorgeous vampire was after the novelty, the challenge, a passing fancy for a bored immortal. After all, she hadn't stayed. She had left after a simple denial of an impossible demand. She hadn't understood and even now, in their current relationship, she left after every brief visit, sucked back into darkness where her every need or fancy was met and attended to with slavish devotion. She didn't need a demanding, unyielding queen. 

Another cloud dimmed the sun and Bonnibel became aware of her pulse as the shadows shrank and disappeared from her room. She looked out the window and... Something was missing? No. The sun was high in the sky, noon, although it had been dawn moments earlier. She swung her head back to face Marceline. 

In reality, Marceline was ugly by the standards of Bonnibel's citizenry. Her color unappealing as washed out salt taffy, proportions grossly unfamiliar. Minutes earlier, she'd been downright hideous, an amalgamation of multiple foul beasts and monsters. The beauty, if that's what it was, concealed the most sinister of demons, the one who seduced and misled. 

Marceline landed gracefully, stepping forward to kneel and embrace Bonnibel loosely about the waist. She brushed her cheek against her belly, licking lightly with a prehensile, forked tongue. When Bonnibel felt the puff of hot air through her pubic hair, the graze against her sensitized clit, she swayed. She understood what Marceline wanted and it would be so easy to give in to the bargain. 

The desk was right there. She could sit, lean back or lay down and Marceline would devour her. No one would interrupt even now in the middle of the day. There were no duties, meetings or obligations. She could lay here with a monster and no one would object. She could submit and give birth to another demon, more sinister than the first for what it represented. 

Marceline craned her head, bright eyes brimming in question, but when Bonnibel didn't tip in answer to her gentle push, those sickly green irises flashed. The red pupils glowed in warning, an implicit threat demanding obedience. 

Bonnibel balked. She smiled and tugged at Marceline's hair, a calculated caress against her nape. "I have something to show you." 

"Oh yeah?" Marceline uncoiled as urged but her hair slipped free of Bonnibel's hand, unwilling to tolerate the restraint. 

Bonnibel reached out without looking and snagged her reading glasses, slipping them into the topmost pocket of her coat. Still smiling, a skill mastered in childhood, she asked, "You like me in this coat, don't you? With glasses, books, maybe gloves?" 

Marceline's nostrils flared as her eyes dimmed in speculative interest. 

"So come with me. I have a new lab I'd like to… try out," Bonnibel coaxed, voice laden with insinuation. 

Marceline licked the edges of her predatory teeth, ending at an exposed canine. She drifted aside so that Bonnibel was no longer trapped between the desk and her chair. "Lead the way, babe." 

The room shifted and fell out of focus, replaced by the end of a hallway. Bonnibel had the impression of walking, but they had already arrived. In front of them was a heavy steel door, inset with a small glass window. A heavy deadbolt was set into the frame of the door and an unmarked lever set into the wall beside it. 

Bonnibel pulled back the broad deadbolt and opened the door. She knew what was in the room. She had never seen it before in her life or dreams but she lead Marceline inside the small, circular room. It was devoid of furnishings except for the mirrors lining every available surface, including the floor. 

Marceline hovered, rotating in place as she took in the reflective room with its domed ceiling. Then she looked at Bonnibel in question, eyebrow raised. 

"It's a solar collector," she supplied, spreading her arms in pride. "With it, I can gain the power my kingdom needs." 

"Don't you have a hydro-electric plant?" Marceline asked, throwing another look around the otherwise featureless room. 

"It doesn't meet the needs of my kingdom," Bonnibel explained, words falling woodenly from her tongue. "But that's not why I brought you here." 

Marceline smirked, regarding the mirrors with lascivious intent. "Yeah, I can see why you brought me here." 

Now she needed to kiss Marceline, so Bonnibel did. When Marceline drifted close enough, Bonnibel pulled her down by the sides of her head, fingers bumping against the strange horns. For a second, she forgot what she needed to do next, the lips against hers so tender and soft, tongue tickling her palate, teeth rasping without breaking skin. Her hands slid down to pull the surprisingly warm body into a closer fit and Marceline hooked her legs around Bonnibel's, her body yielding in trust. 

Seemingly guileless, Bonnibel worked an arm free to pull an object from her side pocket, while breathing against Marceline's mouth to settle her jumping nerves and intractable desire. Oh, Marceline would come to rue her fetish. She wrapped her arm around the vampire's shoulders, draping the veil of hair over-top, and when Marceline sank into the affection, burying her face into the crook of Bonnibel's neck, she raised her fisted hands. 

It wouldn't be hard, but she hesitated in bleary confusion. Then she forgot why. 

Bonnibel flipped the scalpel parallel to her wrist and thrust it between the ribs beneath Marceline's scapula, close to the vertebrae. When Marceline jerked and froze in bewilderment, she embraced the woman fiercely, locking her hands together against the butt of the scalpel and pushing deeper. She jammed the makeshift stake fully into the withered excuse of a heart until there was nothing left to grasp. 

Marceline choked, mouth open in wretched surprise, eyes uncomprehending as Bonnibel stepped out of her arms. She sank to one knee, twisting feebly, hand feeling behind her shoulder blades for the knife in her back. Her fingers scrabbled over a short nub and failed to find purchase on the slick metal, slimy with viscous, black blood. 

Bonnibel put on her spectacles as she continued to back towards the door. In vampire lore and mythology, religious symbols warded off the undead, fueled by the power of belief. She considered the existence of an omniscient supernatural being improbable, but she had a great deal of faith in science and all its symbols. Going through the doorway, she pulled it shut after her, throwing the deadbolt just as Marceline roared in outrage. 

The door shook, denting as Marceline collided with it, glaring through the tiny window in pain and fury because she wasn't just a vampire. She was also a demon and those were notoriously difficult to exterminate. It would take more than a stake to end her unnatural life, but less than eternity without her precious Amulet of Chaotic Evil. Which she hadn't been wearing. 

Bonnibel smiled thinly and threw the lever by the door, her hand guided automatically, of its own volition. 

The dome scrolled away, panels withdrawing into recesses within the walls to reveal a glass ceiling. The noon sun poured through on a now cloudless summer's day. Painfully bright, amplified light flooded the room and struck Marceline from all directions. 

The animalistic noises she'd been making changed in pitch to shrieks of pain and fear. Bonnibel watched stoically, witnessing as Marceline tried to shift and couldn't. She tried to fly and fell instantly. She staggered and spun as her skin boiled and blackened. Her flesh smoked and puckered but never caught aflame. Instead, it began rotting and sloughing off in drips and drabs as she finally ceased searching for an escape. 

The black, peeling corpse lurched back against the door. Marceline pressed an increasingly skeletal hand against the metal and stared back at Bonnibel through the window. When her eyes burst and sank into pits, she continued to give the impression of staring, demanding, pleading for an explanation. 

Bonnibel stopped smiling as the flesh baked away into ash so that a charred skeleton grimaced back at her, noxious fangs locked in an obscene grin. The horns fell off, one by one to leave behind low knobs before the mandible sagged and fell. Then the cranium caved in, disintegrating as the skeleton finally collapsed. 

Bonnibel squinted at the abrupt glare of light, unimpeded by her victim's head. Something trickled down her cheek and she licked when it caught the edge of her lip. She tasted salt and felt more tears, inexplicable and misplaced, her hand touching the door handle and shaking. 

She tried to open the door and woke with a gasp, heart trying to leap from her throat, tangled in sweaty sheets. Dropping back down onto her pillows, she rolled onto her side, hands fisting into the covers. She sucked in cramped breaths as she guided her pulse to slow, realizing that she hadn't experienced a simple dream. She'd had one of her visions. 

* * *

Marceline wasn't burning. She couldn't burn like a normal human-based vampire, so she decayed in fast-forward, flesh rotting black and dissipating from her bones. It didn't hurt anymore; her nerves had vaporized with the flesh and she wondered if there was a brain in her skull. She didn't need it any more than a ghost did but she was struck by a tinge of possessiveness. 

She heard the plink of a thin scalpel sliding from her rib cage to land on the floor as her heart dissolved. 

She pressed her bare cranium against the metal door and, despite lacking eyes, glared at Bonnibel through the small rectangular window. The light in the solarium was so overpowering that all she could make out were the flat white circles of spectacles. They looked back at her impassively and Marceline couldn't push against the door. It was a struggle to even touch it. She tried to laugh but without lungs, her teeth clacked aimlessly. 

"You're not doing so good, sport!" her father chortled from behind her. "Looks like your gal's a real pistol!" 

She shoved weakly off the door, then collapsed as her bones began to crumble. 

Her father ambled over, limbs twisting in awkward imitation of human movement, before he somersaulted over to scoop the remains of her skull off the floor. He held the remains of her head, the orbital sockets, between his palms and grinned at her, a flurry of fine, needle teeth and sickly green eyes. 

"Wake up!" he shouted, shaking her bones. "C'mon, pumpkin, I gotta catch a game with Death and you're not invited. Up an' at 'em!" 

Marceline sucked in a ragged breath, clasping a hand to her chest and lurching midair. She was engulfed in flames, harmless but startling. Instinctively, she doused them, ash fluttering around her in the air of the master bedroom. She dropped into a sitting position amidst the charred ruins of her bed, smoke curling from the split footboard. She massaged her hand against her sternum, searching for the familiar, habitual heartbeat. 

It was steady, if fast. Her heart was whole and secure. The only light in the room was the omnipresent dim red glow and Yaffe's terrified blue eyes far in the corner where ze huddled. There was no blinding sunlight, its wavelength so alien to the Nightosphere, rays lethal to a vampire. That which gave life to the living took it from the dead. 

She floated off the bed to land on bare feet because her night clothes hadn't fared any better than the bed. "What did you see?" 

Yaffe shook hir head, cringing more snugly into the corner. 

"I swear I won't hurt you over an honest answer," Marceline amended, doing her best to minimize the demanding growl that had become her normal speaking voice here in the Night. "Tell me what you saw," she asked again, the threat of geis equally clear. 

Yaffe wrapped hir arms around hir legs more firmly, chin ducking behind hir knees. "You were dreaming. I thought it was a nightmare, at first, but then I realized you were dream-walking." 

Marceline frowned, digging through the remains of her bed for the Amulet of Chaotic Evil. Finding it, utterly unharmed, she draped the chain over her head and formal clothing wrapped around her body as the gem snapped to her neck. 

She'd always been plagued by a vexing variety of lucid dreams but had blamed it on food, poor sleep, hectic nights, anything but her bloodline. She hadn't paid much attention to her father's admonishments as a teen, given so cavalierly, and he had never bothered to elaborate or press the matter. He assumed that she understood all aspects of her basic physiology and she hadn't known the right questions to ask. 

The dream-walk, the mind-worm, the ability gifted to the most powerful of arch-demons to affect the minds of susceptible mortals. They could plant subconscious desires, rile up unbidden passions such as envy, hate, fear and lust, all that could lead to violent, chaotic behavior and all its consequences. It was, in essence, the first stage of demonic possession and unhindered by dimensional boundaries. Humans had never been wrong to suspect the influence of demons upon those who committed misdeeds. The amulet enhanced that ability, but she hadn't been wearing it. 

"You sure?" 

"Yes. Your mind was traveling." 

Marceline nodding in acceptance, fingering the gem at her throat. Yaffe discerned the desires of hir partner through a form of passive telepathy. It wasn't intentionally invasive, being rather specific in form, but an absent mind was hard to miss. She worked her jaw, pondering the implications. A dream-walk would explain her father's presence since he'd ascended to the dead worlds, but what about Bonnibel? She tucked her hands in her trouser pockets, bowing her head under a chilling suspicion. 

"You were acting out some portions of it, shifting. I don't think you meant…" Yaffe faltered in hir explanation, shuffling uneasily as ze picked up on Marceline's disquiet. 

"Go on. I'm not angry with you," she reassured softly, caught in her own speculation. 

"You were getting violent, trying to talk and then you set the bed on fire. I wasn't sure when you'd stop." 

"And you didn't have permission to leave the room," Marceline finished for hir on a sigh. Slavery was so stupid and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. Pivoting in a tight circle on her heels, she paced, her boots setting a slow tempo for her thoughts. "All right." 

"You were with her," Yaffe injected warily, relaxing marginally but not rising. 

"Maybe," Marceline allowed. 

Bonnibel hadn't summoned her for several months and as she tried to remind herself that sex between them was probably an exception to the rule, Marceline enjoyed her fantasies. Imagining whatever she wanted never hurt anyone. She mentally cursed the lucid dreams. The dream walking had become pronounced once she began wearing the amulet, lust being one of its attributes. Maybe she could hurt Bonnibel with idle dreams now. Had it been the real woman's mind rather than a fantasy construct? But how was that possible without the amulet's assistance? Were the changes it rendered becoming permanent? 

Bonnibel's image had been so breathtakingly clear, fidelity down to the smallest detail that never wavered at the edges. And there had been those moments when she balked, briefly resisting in ways a fantasy woman wouldn't. She had spoken, issuing mild but sincere challenges to Marceline's will and intention which had both aroused and confused her. There were too many niggling details to dismiss as mere constructs of subconscious desire. 

Marceline felt the muscles in her neck and shoulders tense as she hunched, pacing back and forth. In her peripheral vision, she saw Yaffe standing, eying her as ze might a wild animal. The succubus had long since quit offering, however implicitly and courteously, to assume Bonnibel's form, but maybe ze was right. Maybe she should tell Yaffe to shift, and fuck until she couldn't move, until the unwanted desire was assuaged enough so that Bonnibel wasn't at risk of mental invasion. 

Her gut clenched in rebellion, bile rising in her mouth, and she wasn't sure which notion disgusted her more. She didn't want to hurt Bonnie but it seemed that removing the amulet didn't free Marceline from its grasp. She frowned deeply, regarding Yaffe in hir natural form: red skin, hairless as most demons, slit eyes glowing blue. Ze didn't deserve any blame. Ze was just trying to perform the task assigned to hir as a final penance. 

If Yaffe was right, if her own gut was right, it hadn't been a fantasy. She had dream walked through the dimensional barrier and imposed her desires on Bonnibel, stepping through her mind with callous ease and indifference. And if that was true, Bonnibel hated her for it. She had researched the methods and knew the requisite techniques to execute Marceline, using a stake and the sun. She had smiled, coddled, cooperated and then rid herself of the unwanted suitor. 

It would only be possible if Marceline removed her amulet, though, and it seemed there was no reason to bother taking it off. She pressed her elbows to her sides, recalling the times she had allowed Bonnibel to pull it loose, to unlatch it from her throat. Her steps slowed until she drifted in place, eyes seeing empty air. If nothing else, it explained why she hadn't been summoned in so long. 

She didn't want sex, not now, but she didn't want to think about Bonnibel anymore either. "Take it from me," she ordered, "as much as you can." 

If it was possible, Yaffe looked at her sorrowfully, before approaching. She reached out with one hand, resting her fingertips on Marceline's forehead. "It will be temporary," she warned. 

"Yeah, I know," Marceline admitted, "but that's better than nothing." 

She felt the change as an alteration in her thought patterns, turning away from plaguing visions of Bonnibel, moments of whimsy and longing interrupting her daily activities. She didn't forget, nor did she wish to, but desire was no longer at the forefront of her mind. More than that, she was blanketed by lassitude, the soothing afterglow that would normally follow sex. She hadn't asked for that but, feeling her muscles slacken and tension drain away, she agreed in retrospect. 

Yaffe backed away a couple of paces, posture alert as ze waited to see if ze would be reprimanded for taking such initiative. 

Marceline rolled her head, popping the joints in her neck, then stretched her arms up before brushing hair out of her face. This job did have its perks, though they rarely made up for the imprisoned tedium. Glancing at Yaffe, she wondered what the demon had done to earn hir incarnation as a succubus, what transgressions had been committed by the mortal that ze once was. 

She had never asked, wasn't sure she wanted to know, but when she looked, Yaffe's soul was pale. Whatever stain or darkness that had brought hir to the Night had washed away with time and repentance. Hir time in the realm was nearing its natural end. Perhaps that would be decades or centuries by the Nightosphere's measure, but Yaffe would be free. 

Marceline resented the luxury but she thanked Yaffe and sent hir out to roam the citadel or surrounding city, as ze pleased. She floated in place for a while, staring absently at the massive doors of her chambers. Yaffe could take only sexual desire. Her powers had no effect on loneliness, grief or any stupid, unrequited bunk, but Marceline couldn't summon any rage. She was tired, not angry, so she headed for the Hall of Judgment. 

She didn't make it more than a few feet past her door. 

"Aren't you going to eat?" Simon asked, emerging from the shadowed hall. 

"Not hungry." 

"Bullgunk," he declared baldly, pointing at her. "Your cheeks are turning inside out. Don't think I haven't noticed." 

"So? It's not like I can die from starvation," she retorted, sidling past him. 

"This is an experiment? You've taken up science?" 

"Will you quit nagging me? I'm not a little kid anymore. I don't need reminders on when to eat, or go to bed or brush my teeth or anything else," she blurted in exasperation, spinning on him. 

"Are you sure of that?" he continued to needle, hands on his hips, brawny shoulders filling most the hallway, amplified by the partial spread of his wings. 

"Y'know what? I'm not having this discussion with you. I'm going downstairs to the Hall. See? I'm being responsible, so quit nagging." 

"Mm," he muttered, pursing his lips dubiously. "You should eat. You wouldn't want a light head compromising your judgment." 

"For chrissake, leave me alone!" she roared, transforming more from reflex than intention. 

Simon looked up to meet her gaze but otherwise seemed unimpressed. Even as her chosen adviser, he wasn't impervious to her wrath. She could disassemble him into a horde of tiny demons. She could reincarnate him into a frog and let him shrivel into an asphyxiating husk in the heat of the Nightosphere. 

He frowned paternally. "No." 

She tried to summon justified outrage but it wouldn't come in the face of something squirming and childish. In all the ways Hunson hadn't been her father, Simon had, for those few years they traveled together in the ravaged wastelands of post-war Earth. She snarled at that guilt, that irrational need to show him respect all while knowing it was one of several reasons she had chosen him for this post. 

"No, I won't," he repeated. "You haven't been eating and that look might've been in fashion back in my day but I never cared for it. Yaffe says you haven't been sleeping well despite hir best efforts-" 

"I'll kill hir," she snarled. 

"Please don't do that," he retorted evenly. "Tradition would require we replace hir and then you'd be stuck starting over with a stranger. You don't really want that, do you?" 

Covering her face with her hand, sliding it down as if she might wipe away her frustrations, she shrank back to a more normal size. "No," she admitted grudgingly. 

"I took it upon myself to pry, so don't blame hir," he continued, defending the succubus. 

"I get it!" she snapped. "You out-rank hir so it's not hir fault. Case closed," she agreed with growing impatience, turning to leave as a means of ending the unwanted conversation. 

"You should talk to someone about it," he persisted. "If you're not comfortable with hir, then I'm all ears." 

She grimaced at the suggestion. Bonnibel was a taboo subject for Yaffe, but it was a creepy one with Simon. Not only was he, like, her dad but he'd spent quite a long time repeatedly kidnapping the woman in misguided attempts to woo her affection and commitment. She did not want to discuss their relationship, or lack of one, with Simon. 

"No way," she dismissed, failing to disguise her slight horror. 

He sighed, bowing his head and scratching behind a pointed ear and sweeping horn before smiling wryly. "Your dad never gave you 'the talk', did he?" 

"What? No!" she practically shouted at his implicit intention, floating backward for good measure. Taking a deep breath to settle the jump in her nerves, she laughed weakly. "I'm a bit old for 'the talk', Simon. I've been in plenty of relationships." 

He held up a clawed hand to his chest. "And I don't particularly want to give it to you but if you don't start talking about whatever's bothering you, I will. Unless you say otherwise, I'll assume all this is about Bonnie." 

"All what?" she growled. 

"You're depressed," he stated bluntly. "And you're distracted, which is dangerous around here." 

"Yeah? So?" She shrugged. "I like to spend the odd decade depressed. It'll work itself out. Always does and I usually write some great songs in the process." 

"Problems don't solve themselves, Marcy." 

She took another deep, calming breath. In her younger days, before she accepted responsibility for the Nightosphere, before she had ever met a certain candy princess, she would travel. She would leave her problems behind, along with the people involved and go to a new place, or an old one that had changed over the centuries. In her experience, most problems did wither away with age if given enough time. The belief that they needed to be solved in a prompt fashion was more of a human concept, a product of short lifespans. 

"I appreciate what you're trying to do," she said more calmly, "but I'm the most powerful person here and I can't do squat. There's nothing you can do to change things either. Bonnie's gonna do whatever she wants to do and that's life." 

"And it's easier not to make an effort? You can't fail if you don't try, right?" 

"That is not fair, and you know it. I tried. We had a relationship and it didn't work out. She was too busy to make the effort then, she's busier now. Nothing's changed." 

"Except that you've stated and demonstrated your intentions toward her, which, I'm guessing, is something you didn't do the first time around. Am I right?" 

She thanked the dim, red lighting that prevented him from seeing her blush as she squirmed over the topic of discussion. She totally did not want to discuss her not-girlfriend with her not-dad. It was grody. 

"I know I missed most of your life, but I do know that Princ- Bonnibel is a giganto nerd." 

"Yeah? So?" 

"Well, so am I and the thing about us nerds is, uh, well…" He scratched his forehead, reaching for glasses he no longer wore or needed, hand fumbling at the bridge of his nose. "We're smart enough to know when someone's out of our league. And we know when they're just using us for tech help, or homework, or setting us up to look stupid in front of their friends. So, um, okay, look, Marcy, this is as awkward for me as it is for you. Could you not give me the demon death glare?" 

Biting the inside of her cheek, she leaned against the dry, rough stone wall, crossing her arms tightly. "Okay. So Bonnie's the nerd and I'm the popular girl?" 

"You were, weren't you? The famous rock star, the unbeatable Vampire Queen, a figure from myth and legend, the fabric of Ooo's entire history? And you got all up in her space and saw the boring, nerdy, irritable, obsessive geek she is underneath those pretty dresses and cultured speeches, right?" 

She worked her jaw, jamming her heel into the floor, keeping her gaze averted. "I guess, yeah." 

"Betty…" He stopped, a hitch in his breath, before continuing. "Betty and I hit it off because we were both nerds. We could trust each other in the same ways. Before her, there was a woman at our company who always hit on me, cozied up and made me uncomfortable. I couldn't tell if she was really into me or faking it and she left me alone after I turned down several lunch dates. She was so beautiful and classy…" 

"I'm not classy," she injected dryly. 

He held out a finger, waggling it, "Because you work hard not to be like your dad." 

"My dad wasn't classy," she protested, screwing up an eyebrow at the notion. 

"Your father was the epitome of suave business tycoon but," he raised an insouciant shoulder, "fashion changes. You were too young to remember, but back to the topic at hand – nice try getting me off track, by the way. When you were dating or whatever, did you ever tell her you cared?" 

She glowered at the floor, dredging up buried memories against her better judgment. Their exchanges had taken on a fuzzy vagueness, exact words long forgotten, the more mundane interactions lost to time. They had never dated. Bonnibel hadn't seen Marceline in a romantic light, but as a dear friend. She had expected to encounter an enemy, a vile bloodsucking monster and Marceline almost smiled at the memory of that confusing first confrontation. She'd dodged a rapid series of wooden stakes fired from a make-shift rail gun while doing her best not to eviscerate the recently ascended crown princess. 

Once that nonsense was straightened out, she had become a friend and adviser to Bonnibel, who valued Marceline for her vast pool of experience. She answered questions about Ooo's history, the evolution of its people, the nature of various fallen kingdoms and societies. She had made recommendations about political gestures and maneuvers, warning the princess when she was about to repeat mistakes long forgotten by the history texts. She only refused to answer questions pertaining to the Mushroom War because it would have meant peeling back tenuous mental scabs. 

Despite Bonnibel's frequent ire when she disagreed with some method or attitude, they had made an invincible team. Where negotiations and technical expertise failed, threats and brute strength persevered and vice versa. 

Looking up at him, she said, "I said I wanted to spend more time with her." 

"And?" 

"She told me she had duties and responsibilities to the kingdom. There was more, but I stopped listening. I was angry," she admitted quietly, dropping her gaze back to the floor. 

"Okay," he said as softly, "Would you like me to translate that into nerd speak for you?" 

She furrowed her brows, eying him from an angle. "What's to translate?" 

He cleared his throat with a fist against his larynx, then aped a falsetto. "The hot, popular girl is demanding more of my precious time for no good reason. How stupid does she think I am? Um, no," he finished with an affronted curl of his lips. He wiped the expression off his face. "It's, uh, pretty much how I responded when that woman kept asking me out. Standard Nerd Defense 101." 

She stared at him, arms sliding free as she pushed off the wall. "Are you lumping serious? That she literally thought I was asking for more time?" 

"Yes." 

She opened her mouth, shaking her head, then closed her mouth with an audible click of teeth. She held up her arms, hands cupping the air, opening her mouth again. Finally, at her wits' end she declared: "That's stupid! How could she- You're fucking with me. You've gotta be fucking with me." 

Simon was tugging on his lower lip with his fingers, distress curling his brow as he watched her. "I'm not. Being a genius doesn't make you smart. A lot of the time, nerds are stupid in special ways. I was always really dumb with women. Betty was…" He sighed heavily. 

"No," she insisted. "That can't be right. She was always criticizing me, nitpicking every little thing-" 

"Because she cared." 

She held up her palm, forestalling further comment. "Telling me what to do, telling me what to wear- 

"Oh, and that's OCD." 

"Hello, I held up my hand. Do you not understand what that means?" 

He grinned unabashedly. "I probably noticed what a giganto nerd she was when I was Ice King. It would explain a lot." 

"Are you listening to me?" 

"Yes," he said with an exaggerated duck of his head. "You were vague, she was confused, you gave up, she thought you weren't interested, yadda yadda yadda. It's a pretty common scenario, except you two got a second chance." 

"I tried to-" 

"But this time, you made her sign a contract." 

"Will you please stop cutting me off?" she fumed, rising into the air. "And, like, that contract was 'gimme your kid and undying loyalty in exchange for saving your kingdom'. Not really what you call romantic." 

"Are you kidding?" he challenged. "She probably had a nerdgasm on the spot." 

She bared a fang in a dubious sneer. "I'm not following you." 

He clasped his hands, putting on a dreamy face. "You promised to defend her kingdom and have her children, and you did it in a nerdy way: Legalese on paper." 

"Uh huh," she said slowly, biting her lower lip as she processed his interpretation. "And that would be the stupid nerd version of events?" 

"Mm hm," he agreed, nodding his head earnestly. 

Pushing hair out of her face, she closed her eyes and slowed her heart rate. Every time she tried to analyze what he had told her, her mind ground to a halt. For one thing, if he was right, then Bonnie had never blown her off. Or rather, she had but because she figured Marceline wasn't serious. Just a stupid, impatient butt because Bonnie was a stupid nerd. Or something like that. 

She groaned. "Okay. I'll have to get back to you on your theory. Can you just give me my schedule?" 

"Well, after not eating breakfast," he started facetiously, "you should take care of some of those poor slobs waiting in line, like you were going to do, and then you have a board meeting." 

She groaned again. 

"I know, I'm sorry," he soothed insincerely. "But you know how anxious the elder gods get." 

"They think I'm incompetent." 

"So, don't be incompetent." 

"Gee, thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you." 

"Follow your father's advice?" 

"My dad would tell me to kidnap Bonnie, lock her in the citadel until I got bored, then suck out her soul." 

"What a splendid idea!" he crowed, clapping his hands in mock delight. "You can tell her it's an extended date. Eat some pizza. Catch a movie…." 

"Shut up, Simon. I'm going downstairs," she announced in exhausted exasperation, smiling at his misguided effort. 

There, she regarded the line of quiet petitioners waiting for her to grace them with her attention. Some raised their heads, spotting her as an inky blot amidst a sea of muted colors. She focused on the gemstone at her neck and let go, her mind receding as the demon Abadeer took hold of her body, spewing out from her head and shoulders like a giant, rotten spore. Floating to the dais, she ordered the first demon forward. 

So it was. A petitioner looked up at her and she asked them to make a choice, a guess as to their fate. Meanwhile, she looked through their body at the soul and judged its worth. Those yet dark were served pain for their impertinence. Those cloudy but graying toward light were heckled by strange and unusual punishments. Those with pale souls were far and few between, so it really came down to 'pain' or 'weird punishment' over and over again. She had to wonder who was actually being punished. 

Until an elderly demon stood before her, eyes vacant with heavy fatigue. His shoulders slumped as he looked up at her, then he snorted, looking back at the stone floor. The demons behind him shuffled back in fear, preparing for the Lord's wrath. 

Marceline cocked her overgrown, bloated head, grinding the jagged teeth in her vertical mouth. She examined his soul more closely, pushing her attention into the gemstone's influence. His soul was pale, very pale. It glowed faintly around the edges, wavering and flickering as she studied it. 

He looked back up, mouth set in a framework of lines that rarely smiled and guessed, "Pain?" 

"Pleasure," she declared and he vanished. 

She gazed at the empty spot, waiting for another demon to step into it. The old demon was in the Dead Worlds, in Death's keeping. He might become a ghost, proceed to whatever afterlife he believed in or even be reincarnated to the mortal plane. She had no way of knowing. 

Shocked whispers traveled through the queue, outside to the massed horde in the river, the details mutating with each retelling. The story would keep the line orderly and moving by virtue of hope, the cruelest emotion.


	2. Chapter 2

Every now and then, Bonnibel experienced a prophetic vision and they were never good news. She'd become adept at interpreting them, but sometimes comprehension came too late to alter fated events. And sometimes, a dream was just a dream, no matter how bizarre or frightening. She scrubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes, wondering if she should call Peppermint Butler. He knew far more about demons than a true candy person ought to. He might be able to offer insight into the vision. 

She flushed at the notion of confiding in him. Her skin tingled with latent arousal, the sensation of nipples brushing against her nightshirt lancing her nerves. She raised a knee, she was so slick and slippery between her legs that she knew her undergarment was in ruins. That didn't usually happen in her sleep but she could tell from the sated lethargy suffusing her limbs that she had experienced an orgasm. Stranger still, it hadn't woken her. 

She eyed the bright sunlight creeping in through the curtains and threw back the covers. For the time being, this vision would remain private as she considered its implications. She peeled off her clothes and threw them in the hamper, then padded barefoot into the bathroom. 

She bowed her head in thought while showering, not something she normally needed to do in the morning. Usually she bathed in the evening before bed, so there was little time in her schedule to accommodate the deviation. Yet, when her hand dropped between her legs intending to lather, the friction against her clit and engorged tissue triggered an involuntary moan. Her hand froze in indecision. Her schedule was tight today. 

Orgasm or not, she was aroused enough that it would be distracting. Fingers grazing over her labia, the flesh hot and yielding, she made a quick decision. Kneeling on the hard porcelain of the tub, she grabbed the faucet head for support and rubbed lightly testing, then harder. 

She recalled the first part of the dream, a long-standing fantasy neither she nor Marceline had ever pursued. She focused on the vivid memory, the raw differences between her usual fantasy and this new one. She pressed her cheek and mouth against her forearm, hand working more quickly, muscles in her back and legs tensing. Her hand shook and jerked unevenly and she no longer felt the rigid tub floor, would have ignored a servant's knocking, even Peppermint himself. 

She muffled already suppressed sounds against her arm lest foolish candy people roaming the castle ask awkward questions that required creative answers. She panted raggedly, hand on the faucet twisting and bit the flesh of her forearm, the unintentional spike of pain blending with the wash of pleasure as her hips rocked into her hand. She hunched over, drawing out the gripping pull and flutter of climax until her chest ached from the hammering heartbeat and her knuckles fell against the porcelain. 

She blinked, water running into her eyes, beating against her back. She wanted to go back to bed and lay down, take a lazy nap, but she couldn't afford the luxury. She blew out air through her teeth, a sound of disgust, a curdling sense of injustice of the entire situation exploding outward into a savage punch. 

Stiffening in pain, she hissed, clutching her bruised knuckles to her belly. “Plum, fudge, sour-berries,” she grunted out, cradling the wounded hand. 

Stretching out her fingers, massaging her knuckles, she took timed breaths until the lancing pain was reduced to a throbbing ache. She kept forgetting. She raised her face into the spray and tried to understand what could compel her to murder Marceline. After a moment's indulgence, she stood and massaged her knees, grumbling at the discomfort. She was convinced her original gum body was far superior to this fleshy one, but she sighed and reached for the soap. 

There was no denying that Marceline was a monster. If not for her sociable and largely benevolent nature, she would have been among Finn's foes. Fortunately, she wasn't. Despite his prowess in battle, she doubted he would have survived a true fight with Marceline. He prided himself on defeating her father, Hunson, once and sending him back to the Nightosphere, but Marceline told a different story. In her version, Hunson hadn't been making any effort to wreak havoc and devastation but, had simply been taunting his daughter in a morbid game of keep-away. It had only been a battle from Finn's perspective. 

So yes, Marceline was a fiend, but a bumbling, shy, frequently bashful night-walker who refused to drink blood as a matter of principle, a vegetarian vampire. She sang songs for children, taught a teenage boy the finer points of combat and history while protecting his blind side. She crooned songs of love that were copied and repeated across Ooo, composed ballads that fell into cultural memory and had a surprising respect for the word 'no' because Simon had done an excellent job teaching her how to be a decent human being. 

She was a terrible monster. Bonnibel couldn't recall ever being scared of Marceline. The Candy Kingdom citizens weren't scared of her, with few exceptions. Finn wasn't scared of her, nor Jake, after all these years. There were only two groups who expressed doubts over Bonnibel's association with her. 

The first were a handful of nobles from neighboring principalities who hoped to gain Bonnibel's hand and kingdom in marriage. They could be real sour tarts over what they perceived as a sugar block and distasteful entanglement. They frequently spread nasty rumors or relayed misleading information. The second group was the new humans. They seemed terrified of most of Ooo's inhabitants. The more magical or overtly powerful, the more they gossiped with fear. 

She finished her shower, squeezing water from her hair and snagging a robe from a hook. Once her ablutions were complete, she exited the steamy bathroom to discover her butler had been busy. A tray bearing a covered dish and glass of juice was beside her bed. The curtains were drawn, flooding the room with morning light and she winced. Marceline had never caught aflame in the vision. 

With her demon heritage and ability to manipulate fire, it was likely she couldn't actually burn. Instead, she had melted and rotted away under the sun. Bonnibel imagined it would be agonizing to remain conscious and aware for the whole process of such withering death. She had no desire to see such a thing ever happen. So it had to be a vision. Yet… The first part had been so familiar that she sucked in a breath, looking out the window. 

Instead of Marceline, she spied Stormo and Goliad crouched in eternal psychic combat. The two sphinxes sat unmoving. Goliad struggled to dominate the kingdom as Bonnibel's intended heir in a program of brutal efficiency; Stormo, created from Finn's DNA, was pledged to defend its freedom. Both had grown larger as they aged, with Goliad developing a short, shaggy mane. Her face was no longer round and juvenile, but elongated into the broad snout of a large cat, ears pinned back in perpetual menace. Work details had been assigned to wash her and Stormo, groom their fur and feathers, and clean away mildew or lichen. Neither ate nor drank, yet they didn't shrivel up and die from starvation or dehydration. 

So it went, another problem Bonnibel could never solve to her satisfaction. Always, there were more. 

She looked away, eyes passing over the giant chalk face of a summoning circle on the far wall. Hesitating, she studied it, wanting to go there and try again. Her fingers worried at the belt of her robe. Marceline hadn't responded to a summoning for months now and she wondered what was so demanding that it kept the Lord of Evil occupied for so long. Surely, if she had been killed, another would have taken her place and subsequently responded to the ancient, Latin command. 

Glancing at the clock, she cursed and wolfed down the food without tasting it. Then she dried her hair, dressed befitting her station yet also emulating her subjects. Combing her hair, she made a noise of disgust and grabbed her crown. Settling its weight on her brow, she stood straight and prepared to battle her first opponents in court. 

Two hours later, she felt glued to her throne. Surely her butt had fused with the cushion because it was the only explanation for why her bruised fist hadn't connected with the Duke of Rock Candy's angular face. To be sure, it would hurt, but the gesture would be immensely satisfying. Earl Cordial was excessively so, backing every idea Rock Candy proposed, no matter how asinine. The one member of the private meeting not heckling her at every turn was, ironically, the Duke of Nuts. 

He propped his elbows on his knees and listened attentively to each noble as if their every word possessed valuable meaning rather than being a waste of air. Every now and then he pretended to be part of the conversation by nodding his head or making a vague noise, but mostly had the sense to keep out of the nagging overtures. Sometimes, when the other two men weren't looking, he would throw a small, sympathetic smile her way. 

It was some sort of vaudeville play, she'd decided. Rock Candy would shift his semi-translucent bulk in his chair, puffing his chest out and looking at her more frankly than polite. He would be making a thinly disguised pass at her, which Cordial invariably missed or ignored while parroting the irrelevant, overlying comment. Occasionally, Nuts would protest or attempt to argue with one of their foolish ideas, as if he too couldn't see what was really happening despite his outward displays of sympathy. 

She didn't detest the Duke of Rock Candy, yet. His family owned a series of mines situated in the southern mountains, so his land was the chief source of raw sugar crucial to everyone's survival. In addition, he maintained outposts in the mountains that monitored activity along the borders with the Fire Kingdom. Nor was the man ugly, being roughly humanoid though composed mostly of crystallized sugar. He cut a fine figure in court and was pursued by a number of young ladies and gentlemen. No, she understood the economic and political advantages of a marriage to the Duke. Everyone in the meeting did. 

She imagined melting him into caramel while keeping a calm mien, hopefully the perfect picture of composed elegance. When necessary, she made a polite noise of interest and avoided looking at the clock. She also avoided looking up at Manfried, the donkey pinata who served as the castle's intercom. He kept rolling his eyes in different directions and sticking out his tongue in sync with the Duke of Rock Candy's droning flirtation. 

She tried to take it seriously but the idea left her cold. It wasn't his fault. She had spent her entire life acting just like any other candy person, but when she imagined being his wife, she experienced a powerful urge to get up and put her throne between them as a physical barrier. She tried to envision his reaction the first time they were engaged in some affectionate behavior and she slipped into a sexual overture. She'd probably need to use her revised decorpsinator serum on him, assuming he wouldn't flee at the first sign of her deviancy and demand a divorce. 

"Announcing visitors Finn and the new humans!" Manfried shouted officiously. 

Bonnibel could have kissed him. She folded her hands in her lap and smiled at the three nobles. "Forgive me. It appears we must draw this conference to a close." 

The three noblemen stood, the Duke of Nuts inadvertently knocking his chair over for which he apologized profusely. They each bowed in turn while she remained seated, then took their leave. Last to go, the Duke of Nuts paused to look over his hunched shoulders, a timid smile on his lumpy face. 

She narrowed her eyes at him and he fled after the two departing fellows, passing a bemused Finn, Seth and Ruthie. Once the annoying nobles were out of range, she stood and cracked a smile, her jaw stiff from being clenched. 

"Finn! You've rescued me once again," she declared with a laugh, nodding at the two humans attending him. "So, what's the latest disaster?" 

"No disaster, Queebles. Uh, I mean, Your Majesty," he answered, with a belated bow for the benefit of his guests. 

Her lips twitched over his display of formal courtesy which he normally eschewed in her company. "Dare I hope for good news, then?" 

"Not exactly, but it's nothing bad. Seth and Ruthie want to go over some legal stuff. I tried explaining it but," he shrugged self-consciously, "I got confused too." 

She stepped off her dais to put herself at their level, wondering if the gesture was wasted on them. It was hit and miss with many members of her court. Some would notice every little slight and others wouldn't notice a punch bowl on their head. Surreptitiously, she stretched her legs and cramped thighs, always glad for how a full dress concealed a jittery knee or tapping foot. 

"What seems to be the problem?" 

"Um, well, you see-" Seth began, only to be elbowed sharply by Ruthie. "Thank you for seeing us, Your Majesty. I'm sure you have more important things to do but we didn't have a local representative to handle this," he continued in a rush. 

"That's completely understandable," she conceded. "Your settlement is young and outside the jurisdiction of established political precincts." 

"Right, so," he stammered, glancing over at Ruthie before going on, "Finn was helping us read the municipal codes and statutes and, uh, well… We don't have any money or gold. How do we pay our taxes or tithes?" 

She blinked owlishly, then gave a relaxed smile meant to put the humans at ease. "Ah, I see your predicament. Would you mind discussing this in the gardens? I've been trapped in that monstrous chair all morning and would love a breath of fresh air." 

"Of course, your majesty," Ruthie said over Seth, as he opened his mouth, looking confused. 

"Me too?" Finn asked, fidgeting with his thumbs hooked through his belt. 

Acting on a whim, Bonnibel hooked her elbow through his, guiding him to her side. "You too. They're your friends, aren't they?" 

"They're my peeps," he confirmed. "And I kinda want to know the answer, too. I can pay their taxes if they need help but that seems harsh." 

"It would be," she agreed, loudly enough for the Mac'n'tires to hear, as they exited the main doors onto the front steps. "We do use a flat tax but it isn't applied until a household can demonstrate self-sufficiency or generate a profit. Many families in my kingdom actually fall below that requirement, merely subsisting." 

"You mean, peeps are poor?" 

"Oh, no," she contradicted as the Mac'n'tires drew alongside them, the width of the staircase permitting it. "I do my best to reduce poverty in the kingdom. It's terrible for the economy. Most families in the Candy Kingdom simply don't turn a profit. They have what they need without excess." 

"So," broke in Ruthie, "we don't need to worry about taxes so long as we're just getting by?" 

"Precisely." 

Seth mumbled something under his breath. 

"Pardon?" 

Ruthie slapped him on the back of his head and he flapped an arm in protest, scowling at her, though it was apparent he harbored no true animosity toward his wife. They squabbled for a few moments before Ruthie turned back to Bonnibel with a huff and apology. 

"Please don't be afraid to speak honestly," Bonnibel said. "No one is punished for having an opinion." 

"Trufax," Finn chimed in, giving a thumbs up. "You can say whatever you want, even about Que-, uh, the queen. Well, don't say you're gonna kill her or anything really dumb like that," he amended with a grin. 

"Trufax," Bonnibel agreed with a matching grin, her mood lifting with the blue sky and light breeze. Even if they finished this conversation before they reached the gardens, she would take a walk, maybe stop and check on her favorite flowers. 

"Well," Ruthie began cautiously, "my oaf of a husband was suggesting that some people might try and hide their earnings to dodge the tax." 

"Oh, some try. They might get away with it for a little while, but they slip up eventually, usually by buying things they shouldn't be able to afford. Then I back tax them." 

Ruthie winced. "You don't throw them in the dungeon?" 

"Goodness no. I don't clutter the dungeon with petty criminals. Only felons wind up there. Everything else is fined. Part goes into the royal coffers, but the bulk goes to the injured party as compensation. The specifics are more complex than that, but that's the gist of it." 

Ruthie was nodding as she asked, "What if folks get into it with each other but both sides want to let it go?" 

"Then the matter's settled." 

"What if one person's a peasant and the others some high'n'mighty sort?" 

"Any citizen has the right to file suit, but I suspect you're asking about political corruption." Bonnibel took a deep breath, smile fading. There was no such thing as a perfect system, although she did her best. "There's little I can do about below-board threats and intimidation without evidence, but there are other ways to penalize the nobility." She smiled narrowly. "All their power derives from me after all, and I can take it away as easily as I grant it." 

They had reached the garden and she slipped her arm free of Finn's to approach a rose bush. Leaning close, she spied some withered leaves and dying blooms. Reaching carefully between the thorns she plucked them off the stems, tossing the detritus to the mulch. Starchy would clean it up during his rounds. 

When she turned around, Finn was studying her curiously, evidently having caught the undercurrents of the conversation and her subsequent actions. He looked down at the discarded chaff and his lips pulled into a sad smirk. He held out his arm to her gallantly and she wrapped her hand back around his elbow. When she looked back over at the Mac'n'tires, she discovered Ruthie eying them speculatively. 

She resumed walking, Finn occasionally jostling her hip as he shortened his steps to keep pace with her. Her fingers slid into the crook created by his bicep and forearm, muscles flexing slightly with every motion. The humans were more observant than the average candy person, so she waited with bated breath for some sly comment or question. Rather than fear or dismay, the possibility that she would need to issue a formal statement that defined her relationship with Finn filled her with nervous anticipation. She couldn't decide what to say. 

She knew he was no longer dating the Flame Queen, but they remained close friends. Marceline had suggested rather boldly that Bonnibel should pursue him for the most pragmatic of reasons. Her mind still stumbled over the fact that Marceline, of all people, could be so rational. Then again, she'd survived multiple hardships over the centuries which was certain to engender some degree of pragmatism. The one person who hadn't made his intentions or desires clear was Finn himself. 

When Ruthie politely looked away, Bonnibel was almost disappointed. Then she chided herself for having such shallow thoughts. The humans were among those who gossiped about her relationship with Marceline and circulated some decidedly unflattering opinions. She shouldn't want them gossiping about her alleged relationship with the kingdom's official champion and Ooo's hero, who walked in the footsteps of the great Billy. She had no business laying claim to someone who belonged to everyone. No. These humans were not her friends. 

Slipping her hand free, she went on ahead to attend to another flowering bush. It had clusters of smaller blooms that required more care to prune. She set about pinching off withered, brown flower heads, mostly to occupy her hands while her mind churned. She blamed her new biology and Marceline's extended absence. Bonnibel had been happy with her gum body. She could depend on it to function in certain ways that didn't involve wild hormone fluctuations and a wandering, preoccupied mind at the most inconvenient of times. She wasn't sure what to make of fantasies that vacillated between Marceline and Finn, and left her hot and restless in the midst of formal meetings or political events. 

She savagely twisted off a partially browned cluster, snapping loose a length of stem with it. Masturbation was easy enough, but she wanted more than a simple orgasm. She wanted to be held, cradled in warm arms and skin. She wanted to rest against a warm chest, listening to a slowing heartbeat, to know that another person cared. And she wanted to know if Marceline had engineered that need into her, or if it was a byproduct of humanity, a complete accident. The hand dangling by her side fisted in the material of her dress as she regarded Finn from the corner of her eye. 

Either the Mac'n'tires had more to ask her, or they were awaiting a formal dismissal because they stood beside Finn, chatting amiably. He didn't exactly tower over Seth but he was distinctly taller, with wider shoulders emphasized by his red half-cape. His ever-present bearskin hat threw shadows over his eyes but the sun glinted off his short, groomed beard. It outlined his jaw, fizzling out down his neck where long, blond hair spilled out from beneath the hat. Her gaze wandering down, following the line of his chest, how his shirt pulled tight across his stomach. Her eyes fell to his groin, imagination holding her attention, jeans following curves well enough that… 

Her gaze jerked up as she realized Ruthie was watching her, a small smirk on her face before she ducked around to say something to Seth. Bonnibel returned her attention to the bush, where her hand was stuck to a cluster of flowers. She'd completely forgotten what she was doing and felt herself flush. The sun was rising high, climbing toward noon, but she knew it wasn't responsible for the heat of her skin or her damp palms. Damn Marceline. 

Stepping away from the bush once she steadied her heart, she rejoined the small group with a polite smile. "Did you have any additional concerns, or can Finn handle everything else?" 

"What? Oh!" Seth stammered before getting a hold of himself. "No, Ma'am, uh, Your Majesty. We were right concerned about the taxes, but me and the missus been learning to read your language. Most the rest we can follow with Finn's help." 

"In that case, you're free to stay or go as you wish. It will be lunchtime soon and you're welcome to join me." 

"Ah, no," Ruthie stepped in. "We promised our folk we'd come back to help with some planting before it got too late. We got another stop in town, so we better head out." 

Bonnibel inclined her head in acknowledgment. "Then I won't hold you up any longer. I wish you the best of luck." 

Seth bowed nervously when prompted by Ruthie and started to leave with obvious relief. 

Ruthie glanced over her shoulder as she followed her husband. "You two enjoy the rest of your day, hear?" 

"Sure thing!" Finn called back. 

Bonnibel clasped her hands together, eyes hooded as she watched the perceptive humans leave, wondering if Finn had missed the innuendo. 

* * *

Marceline regarded the massive meeting hall doors dourly, nerves rattling like a loose guitar string. There was no logical reason to be afraid. No matter how old, how powerful or majestic the elder gods of the Nightosphere were, she could kick their collective butts. She'd attended a number of board meetings so it wasn't some scary, new chore. Usually, nothing important happened. This or that lord of this or that section of the Nightosphere would bicker or complain until everyone got bored and the meeting was adjourned. 

The problem was their subtle condescension when she was ignorant of some oh so important bit of personal politics dating back thousands of years, or disinterested in some trifling border squabble or allotment of resources. She couldn't explain anything to them without being brushed off, ignored or flat out denounced. She was willing to bet her father had been given more respect, but heck if she knew how he pulled it off. 

She envisioned the doors open instead of closed, and it was so. A little reminder of her power wouldn't hurt the board. She floated through them, landing beside her padded, executive office chair. A throne might have helped, except the artifice of the Nightosphere capital was modeled after some late-twenty-first century, western, human corporate system. So she sat down in a plush seat at the head of a long, rectangular table and rested her axe across the arms of the chair. It would give her something to do while they bitched at each other. 

The elder gods had some pecking order that they self-managed but she had the general impression that the most powerful and influential demigods sat closest to her, with the weakest toward the far end. Most of the regulars were present, though Uriel, the angel who guarded Tartarus, and Iblis, the jinn who presided over Jahannam, were absent. The former often snubbed his rivals because he considered them inferior demons, but the latter usually showed if for no reason other than to sneer out underhanded insults. 

"Sup, y'all." 

"So nice of you to grace us with your presence," drawled Yama, his corpulent bulk overflowing his chair. 

She bit back the urge to defend herself by pointing out that she'd been down in the Hall of Judgment but remembered in time that her actions were above reproach. Besides, Yama was judgmental by nature. "You should be grateful I showed up before the coffee got cold." 

A timid little demon hurried towards her with a carafe and poured hers first. She was satisfied to see steam rise from the cup she was handed, followed by several packets of sugar and cream. The beverage wouldn't do her any good, but it would taste nice while it was warm, and drinking was a great way to stall for time when a witty rejoinder was required. 

"Can't we do something new for a change?" Setesuyara complained, her fine golden headdress ruffling as she reached for a donut. 

"We're tired of coffee and donuts," agreed her husband, the ogre Batara Kala who was as ugly as his wife was beautiful. 

Marceline busied herself mixing the sugar and cream into her coffee with a plastic stick. They had a point. This ritual was an artifact of her father's tenure. She was free to change it as she pleased, in the same way as her default clothing. But really, replace it with what? Should she imitate Ooo's current royalty with their colorful, ornamented combinations of modern styles coupled with archaic, pre-war fashion? Maybe she could force everyone to take up an instrument and pretend they were at a concert. She smiled at the image of everyone trying to have an argument via instrument, then frowned as her mind supplied the cacophony that would result. 

She shrugged. "I like coffee." 

"You never touch the donuts," Moloch pointed out. 

"They're stale." 

"And she's been spoiled with fresh candy," Erlik cut in with a porcine snort of laughter. 

Marceline put down her cup before she crushed it and brushed her fingers over the steel strings of her axe bass. She was forever cleaning and tuning it since taking her place in the Nightosphere, bits of gore and gunk getting lodged in between the pegs and under the tuning knobs. Maybe she should give up on it as an instrument of music. She drowned out the resulting slurs and suggestive comments by focusing on the deep thrum. 

She gave them their moment of crass humor then lifted her eyes, reaching for the cup again and curling her lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize my sex life was such a vital concern or ya'll just wasting my time?" 

"You expect us to fear you, child? When you cannot even command your consort?" 

Marceline wanted to keep her gaze neutral, to keep pretending that she was more interested in her bass than Erlik, but she knew better. This was not a world of tacit understanding and polite deferral. She looked directly at him, as placid as she could manage with the churning demon at her throat. 

"That's right, I know," he said on a rasping laugh through his snout the tusks slurring his speech. "We all know. It isn't that you were being generous or merciful," and he managed to sneer that word, "but that she had you by the horns. If she had refused your demand, you would have been forced to kill your precious candy girl. Honor would demand no less." 

Moloch snorted in agreement, twisting a braid of his beard between his fingers, kohled eyes half-lidded. "I never accepted anything less than the first-born." 

"Why? Do they taste different?" Marceline drawled, sincerely doubting the accuracy of his memory. Old Molly had been around so long he probably didn't even remember his first sacrifice. 

"I find that humans mostly taste the same," chimed in Whiro. "Now, these modern people from Ooo are a bit odd at times, but with such a small sample I'm reluctant to state a firm opinion." 

Marceline raised her eyebrows in surprise. She wouldn't have thought the old Maori god had any followers in Ooo, but there were myriad populations on the scattered islands surrounding the mainland. Some tribes even lived on the water, their entire lives spent between ships. Mostly, she wasn't expecting support from any of the elders. 

It wasn't as if all the ancient rulers were pitted against her. Many, such as Ereshkigal and Nergal, who ruled Irkalla, Mictlantecuhtli and Mictecacihuatl in Mictlan, or Batara Kala and Setesuyara, Aed and the Supay didn't appear interested in harassing her. They didn't help, but she never caught wind of them scheming or slandering either. They were content to rule their respective kingdoms and leave her be, as long as she didn't wreak unnecessary havoc in their lands. 

It was the unhappy ones that caused trouble. Apep, who thought he was in some sort of monster contest to see who could do the most damage in the Night, Alu always trying to sneak topside to harass sleeping mortals, Iblis who reminded her of the most arrogant, conceited fire lord possible and Erlik. He was nasty, conniving, manipulative and had about a million children, all of whom wanted to take his place. 

Of course, now Eingana, Ereshkigal, Yama, Ammit and Hine-nui-te-po were all staring judgmentally at him. The four goddesses displeased by his misogyny, although to varying degrees and fat old Yama on general principle. Between a giant snake, the crocodile-headed soul-eater and a beady eyed Yama, Erlik slunk down in his seat, bushy black brows hiding his spiteful gaze. 

Marceline trailed her fingers lightly over the steel strings of her bass, watching them. None would fight. They were too old, too patient and far too experienced to bother with physical violence. They were immortal and it would achieve nothing. No, they would politick and squabble instead, using sanctions, boycotts and trade blockades. Nothing would fundamentally change in the Nightosphere. 

Hine-nui-te-po caught her gaze and Marceline looked back at the dark-skinned woman, with her tattooed chin, loose hair and decorative feather. She had a way of seeming calm despite her past circumstances, having welcomed all of her children into the Night long ago. She wasn't married to Whiro but she ruled beside him, tempering his egotistical desire to quite literally eat his way out of the Night. 

"Is it true?" the Maori woman asked. "Did you bend tradition for her sake?" 

Marceline fought the urge to blow up at the whole lot of them. She might not be able to kill any of these regents, but she could destroy their bodies, forcing them to reincarnate at an agonizingly slow rate, leaving their kingdoms to fester and rot until they returned. Most, no matter how conniving, were obligated to care for their subjects, to pass judgment or move souls along to a higher level. She knew she was failing to keep her anger off her face, feeling the curl of her lip and the pull of her ears as they flattened. 

They made her feel like the child Erlik had called her. How had her father won their respect? Were the elders so stagnant in their methods and thinking? She suspected that was why leadership of the Night was passed on through the children of Samael rather than residing with the same immortal for all eternity, but she wondered if change was worth the fuss. Was it just to entertain the elder gods with a new face? 

"Seriously? That's why you guys called this meeting? Because I wasn't old-fashioned enough? Ever occur to you that's lame," she said, holding up fingers to count off, "predictable, trite, totes pointless and, oh, did I already say 'lame'? I followed the letter of the law, so get over it." 

"Your father had more respect for tradition." 

"My dad was a clueless douche," she snapped back irritably, "and he wasn't traditional enough to actually act like a dad, so stuff it, pig-face." 

"A child," Erlik murmured in answer. 

She ground her teeth because yes, that had been a childish outburst, a little girl whining because her father had failed to meet her expectations. She leaned back in her chair, hearing the oiled leather fold and give. She dangled her arms over the neck of her labrys, using it as if it were a guard rail. 

Hine-nui-te-po had never broken her gaze. "Lady Abadeer," she said in tacit reprimand of Erlik, "it is a valid concern. Tradition may not be the law, but it is not broken lightly here in the Night. We are troubled by such a display of weakness." 

Marceline couldn't stop her derisive sneer. Her father had been the same way, utterly blind to the difference between mercy and weakness. As Simon kept reminding her, there was no room for kindness in the Nightosphere. It wasn't as if at least some of the gods didn't understand it; it was just frowned upon. Kindness was suspicious, a ploy for some hidden scheme or strategy, a distraction for the foolish. 

She growled and said, "She would have granted the first-born if I demanded it but I didn't see the need." 

"Oh, is that what you tell yourself?" taunted Erlik. "That you weren't quaking in those tacky boots that she would reject your dominion? That you weren't sweetening the bargain to make it more palatable?" 

"That's enough, pig-face." 

"I motion for a vote of no confidence," Erlik continued, as if she hadn't spoken. 

Marceline stood, slamming her labrys horizontally on the polished stone table surface. "Fuck your vote. You asking me to cull your steppes, Erlik? 'cause I can come out there and fertilize the ground with your kids." 

A few of the elders stirred in interest because there hadn't been a war in ages. At least, there had been no formal declaration of one upon a regent nation within the empire of the Nightosphere by the Lord of Evil. Certainly, neighbors had skirmished over scarce resources, but the High Guard hadn't marched in a long time. Not even the recent political fuss that stirred up all those grass-root parties had resulted in full scale battle because no one wanted to challenge the Nephilim 

He regarded her darkly, mouth thin between his bushy mustache and matted beard. "I motion for a vote of-" 

She snaked out a tentacle, catching Erlik around the throat and dragging him across the table. With the other arm, she swung the labrys over her head and straight down into his skull. She averted her face, catching the spray of black blood across her cheek and shoulder, then wrestled the bit free to swing the axe again. She hacked with the large, heavy weapon until Erlik was spread in pieces across the table, floor and her chair. 

Using her sleeve, she wiped his blood off her face, the wool doing a poor job and mostly smearing it into a worse mess. 

Whiro picked up a nearby chunk of bone and gristle, dangling the morsel of Erlik's corpse from his fingers. "Do you mind if I eat him, Lady Abadeer?" 

"Be my guest," she said, slinging her axe over her shoulder. 

Erlik had possessed few worshipers, if any, on post-apocalyptic Earth. He would be a long time coming back, if he did at all. His wives and children, on the other hand, were plentiful and would feel honor-bound to retaliate for this offense. So she walked away from the board of elders. She had a war to wage. 

Less than two hours later, she was floating in front of the citadel, gazing down at the amassed army of demons. They were the residents of the capital city, normally demons who went about daily lives of commerce or politics, but all oath-bound to serve her at a moment's notice. Justice in the Nightosphere was swift and violent, the power of any regional ruler determined by the speed with which they could raise a fighting force. 

She looked out into the distance where dragons, serpents, harpies and other flying beasts filled the air, awaiting the command to march. She'd fought often in her younger days, with zeal and passion, determined to crush enemies or avenge friends, but now she felt only a vague emptiness. Erlik had challenged her authority, offended her personally, and by the laws and custom of the Night, she was obligated to subjugate his realm. 

Concentrating, she opened a massive portal that would lead to the Mongolian steppes of the Sixteenth Level. The pale blue glow illuminated the gathered soldiers as she raised her gory axe over her head before bringing it down in a chop that released the army to march. Breaking custom, she flew down and plunged through the portal to head the force as they spilled out on the bleak steppes in formation. 

The land was flat as far as she could see, hard ground and sparse bleached grasses under a washed out blue sky. She looked up, searching for an equally false sun but not finding one. Her gaze traveled back down and forward. Up ahead was a cluster of round huts, smoke curling up from chimneys. People milled around, tiny as ants in the distance, spotting the invading army and some of them began running toward a herd of horses. Even further along the horizon, she could see another village. 

Below her, the army began to march, armored soldiers wielding swords, spears, pikes, maces and a wide variety of personalized weapons. They kept pouring forward, keeping pace with the heavy beat of a drum, making room for the heavy cavalry behind them. Then the first flying beasts swept past her as small humanoid demons riding horses charged recklessly to their death. 

She had participated in massacres before, but always for a righteous cause, or at least one that seemed righteous at the time, if not in retrospect. She had helped slaughter fierce armies of vampires, werewolves and assorted monsters. She had dismembered hysterical, pitchfork waving mobs and taken out armored knights like nine-pins, but it took a monumental effort to fly forward and take the lead in this battle. 

She reminded herself that no matter how human they appeared, Erlik's people were demons just like her. They might be riding fake horses and shooting pitiful arrows, but they were monsters. She couldn't pity them. And as they died, the souls of the deserving were freed to the Dead Lands, and the ones of those who were not would be reincarnated as lesser demons. 

Allowing her mind to recede, she borrowed on the power of the amulet, pushing doubt and sympathy aside. She savored the wind tugging at her mass of hair, obscuring the first screams and shouts as she dropped like an arrow and swung her axe. 

After a few two-handed hacks, the army swarmed past her in a thundering rush, splitting and reforming around her. Stepping on the body at her feet, she pried loose her axe to finish off the squealing horse. It was probably a demon too, though very low ranked. With a death like this, it would probably level up when reincarnating. She squinted through the spray of blood, then flew up to regard her army's progress. 

They were upon the village, circling it to entrap the families within, composed of women, children and the elderly and infirm. She hung in the air, watching numbly as the soldiers set fire to the yurts and began dragging out the residents for execution. She wrapped her hand tightly around the neck of her axe but couldn't bring herself to join them. It was grunt work. It was enough to stay visible and to witness.


	3. Chapter 3

Bonnibel was updating schematics when someone knocked on the door of her study. Thinking it was a servant sent to remind her about lunch or to report some silly problem like Cinnamon Bun being stuck in a tree, she bid them to enter. Instead of Peppermint Butler or a guard, it was Finn. 

"Um, hi. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" 

After more than a decade, he had learned to knock before barging in on her. To be fair, in the past her personal activities had consisted of innocuous science projects. Peppermint Butler had always waylaid Finn and Jake if a prisoner was being interrogated over some infraction. He had been less successful at delaying Finn during one of Marceline's visits. While the incident no longer left her blushing, Finn had learned to announce his presence. 

She blinked before cracking a small smile. There was no reason for it, he had disturbed her stolen moment of engineering, after all, but her mood improved as if his arrival were a pleasant distraction rather than the interruption it was. Even if he couldn't follow scientific discourse, he was always a friend with a ready ear. Though sometimes, he also had a snooping eye. 

As quickly as the smile had struck, it disappeared when she looked down at her blueprints. She smoothed her hand over the paper which was attempting to curl back into a roll, and set down her pencil. "What's up?" 

He strolled into the study, looking at various blueprints and schematics hung in collections, hands tucked loosely in his jean pockets, thumbs through the belt loops. It was odd how he made the room seem smaller. "Seth and Ruthie wanted me to ask if you'd come by when they open the new town hall." 

"They could have asked me themselves," she noted, watching him in her peripheral vision. 

"Seth said they'd taken up enough of your time." 

"And Ruthie probably wanted to charge up here and ask anyway," she concluded merrily. 

"Yeah, basically." 

She tutted, sliding off her stool. "When is it?" 

"Um, right after lunch." 

"I see," she drawled. "Did they ask you to ask me or did you overhear them arguing about it and took it upon yourself to resolve the issue?" 

"The, uh, second version," he admitted, grinning cheekily. 

"Mm hm." 

"It's okay if you can't, but I figured it didn't hurt to ask," he replied while peering at the blueprint she had abandoned. 

"It doesn't," she agreed, taking off her reading glasses. 

"What are you working on?" 

"Pardon?" She'd been hoping if she were sufficiently nonchalant that he would dismiss the more provocative images. 

"You're up in this room like every time I come here and this one looks like some sort of robot," he explained, tapping his finger on the drawing. 

"It is a robot," she admitted in growing exasperation. 

She looked at him, leaning over the table, hips canted in rest. He meant to study the schematic in detail, read every note and then move on to other diagrams. He would pester and badger until she lost her temper, knowing her too well in that regard, and she would tell him more than he needed to know. Or, she could distract him. She had seen Marceline do it enough times and she had a deep-rooted suspicion it would work for her as well. 

Bonnibel gradually made her way to his side, leaned her elbow on the desk as if she were examining the blueprint with him, then slid her hand up onto his shoulder. As if by accident she bumped her hip against his, but before she could say a word, he straightened quickly and stumbled backward, coughing. 

"So, uh, robots, huh?" he asked, voice breaking slightly mid-sentence. "And that one over there looks like a giant gun," he continued. 

Dismayed, she rubbed her thumb against her palm, then rolled up the blueprint. She had mucked it up somehow. When she tried to take his elbow, purely to guide him out of the room, he veered away from her toward the doorway. She watched him, a sinking sensation in her gut, a cold knot she didn't expect, before dropping the rolled up blueprint onto a nearby stack. 

"In a manner of speaking," she forced herself to answer, "but the schematics in this room are for my eyes only, so zip it." 

He evaded her, dancing from one foot to the other backward as if he were dueling an opponent rather than walking out of a room. "Does that stuff have something to do with all the super secret construction projects?" 

She pressed her lips together, refusing to answer, advancing on him so he would keep retreating. While she trusted him to protect her kingdom, her person, he was unpredictable at keeping secrets. Sometimes he felt honor bound to keep quiet and other times he would randomly decide it was unethical, immoral or some such nonsense. As if she asked him to keep secrets for her own amusement. 

"'cause me and Jake snuck into one and saw a bunch of junk before some Nanny Guards threw us out." 

"Yes, I know. They reported the incident to me," she replied while corralling him away from a drafting board covered in drawings. 

"Are you building a robot army?" 

"No, I am building an automated defense network and that's all I'm going to tell you, so stop baiting me," she allowed, finally herding him out the door. 

He wriggled his fingers, palms facing her, as she brushed past him and turned in the direction of her quarters rather than going downstairs. "Shouldn't we be going the other way?" 

"I need to change if I'm visiting your humans." 

"Why? Is your dress dirty? I can't see anything," he prattled on without even looking at her. 

"My dress is not dirty. It's merely ineffective for the image I wish to present." 

"Huh, okay." 

They hiked up the stairs that led to her suite in relative silence after that. Whatever had given Finn the jitters evidently having passed. Until she asked, "You're not going to badger me about that too?" 

"Nope. Marcy told me once all about how she picks out her clothes and acts a certain way for performances. It's the same thing, right?" 

His casual mention of Marceline constricted her chest, leaving Bonnibel unable to answer immediately. Then she stepped on the hem of her dress. 

Finn caught her. "Man, I tried wearing a dress once but I almost killed myself walking. Jake says it's easy but I don't know how you guys do it, especially if you add heels." 

"Practice," she responded dryly, aware of the irony. 

"Yeah, yeah. That's what you say about everything," he answered drolly, a quick smirk as he eyed the stairs pointedly. "But that didn't keep you from nearly face-planting." 

"That's also true," she agreed graciously as they fell back into more familiar banter outside her room, “but practice doesn't prevent you from being wounded on a routine basis either.” 

“Point,” he conceded. 

When she pulled open the door, he started to follow her inside out of habit. 

She caught his wrist and her breath, hoping he wouldn't notice. "I'm going to change, remember?" 

"Right," he squeaked, cheeks turning pink underneath pale whiskers. "My bad." 

"No biggie," she reassured him with a shaky smile, releasing his wrist as if she had burned herself. She curled that hand behind her back, deeply regretting what should have been an innocent gesture, knowing all too well what the distracting tingle of her skin meant. "I'll be back in a few." 

Once the door shut behind her, she let out her breath in a rude noise and fell against the polished wood. She pressed her back against the solid surface, eyes shut, and wished it were a person. Billy's ghost help her, she was going to go insane. For a few seconds, she indulged her imagination and pretended it was Finn at her back, that she wasn't scaring the beans out of him, that she wouldn't need to face another night alone. Then she slapped her palm against the wood and snarled, cursing Marceline for the umpteenth time that morning. 

"If I ever see her again…" she muttered, heading for the wardrobe. 

She opened the finely crafted doors and hit a switch that activated the rotating rack. After a moment, the section of clothing she wanted came into view and she flipped the switch off. 

She was looking at a set of varied dress uniforms modeled on some ancient pre-war folio of military styles she had dug up in her library. After studying the humans, interrogating Finn and researching historical examples, she had instructed her tailors fashion several outfits. With any luck – which seemed to be in short supply – it would force the new humans to see her as a political and military leader rather than as just a woman, which was critical to everyone's well-being. Their desire to have her present at a local-government function was a hopeful sign. 

Selecting a uniform, she closed the wardrobe doors and made the mistake of looking at the chalk smiley face on the far wall. She glowered at it, hand clenching around the hanger before spinning around and marching to her bed. Grabbing her crown by its central tine, she tossed it onto the mattress where it landed with a leaden thump. She dropped the new clothes on the mattress and began disrobing. 

She managed to get most of the outfit on before she came to a moody stop. She forced herself to look back at the wall, hands clasped in her lap over the formal jacket. Where was Marceline? Even Peppermint Butler couldn't reach her to parlay. Bonnibel reminded herself that Finn was waiting, that she had somewhere to be, but didn't move. Someone always needed something from her but when she needed something, no one was available, Marceline being the worst of the lot. 

Finn knocked on her door, but she ignored him, the sound tinny and distant in her mind. 

Lately, it seemed she couldn't have five minutes to herself. Progress on various personal projects and experiments had slowed to a crawl as most of her resources were thrown at the defense grid and its requisite power supply. Another ruler in her position would have focused on building a standing army or navy, but candy people were near worthless in battle. Without a bargaining chip, she couldn't negotiate an alliance with the Fire Kingdom, so that left a technological solution. If her tech was superior, her kingdom would prevail against any invader. History showed that it was as simple as that. 

But there was precious little time left and grumbles from her subjects were mounting over the cuts in public services. There had been a three percent rise in illness and disease, an eleven percent drop in taxable incomes, and the new humans caused one uproar after another that set off the nobility like dominoes. Several nobles had begun wooing her aggressively, such as the Duke of Rock Candy, as if her relationship with Marceline had been a secret signal to pursue. As if that relationship were purely incidental and maybe it was. Perhaps she was crediting the woman with far too much sentimentality. 

She hung her head, toying with some golden braid. She had vowed never to allow personal entanglements or emotional attachments to interfere with her royal duties, and she had violated that promise. Though she was no stranger to hypocrisy, it usually went the other way. She would take a position only to reverse it in the face of so-called new information, sacrificing pride for the greater good. When had her intractable emotions taken precedence? When had she begun placing a priority on a non-existent commitment? 

Raising her head, she looked out the window at Stormo and Goliad. Truthfully, she hadn't acceded to the bargain with Marceline for the greater good. Yes, she had needed the army to defeat the Lich and appreciated being alive, but she had jumped at the chance to escape a lifetime of servitude to her subjects. With a viable heir in place, she could be done with running the kingdom; solving everyone's problems when they were too dumb to figure things out; finding solutions to infrastructure failures or weaknesses and otherwise doing everything except what she preferred. Was it so unreasonable to hope for someone to care about what she wanted for a change, without bargains, double-dealing or back-stabbing? 

She squinted at the brightness of the sunlight pouring through the windows. A dull pain was developing at the back of her head, a tension headache. All that really mattered was that first child. If she had an heir, she had a way out. She could pursue her own goals and truly live life. Marceline was immortal. Bonnibel didn't need to wait on her; it was the other way around. She could take her time and have a second chance at life, maybe even with Finn if she played her cards right. 

She heard the door creak open. 

"Are you okay? You were really quiet and didn't answer the knocking and I got worried. Can I open my eyes?" 

"I'm decent," she answered automatically. 

"Phew. Thought you might've been kidnapped by some new wizard donkus. I know Marceline took care of Simon but, oh my grod, you're crying. Why are you crying? What happened?" Finn asked, each question a higher octave than the last. 

She smiled wanly at the man who could take down a dragon without batting an eyelash, as he panicked over nothing. "Chillax, Finn. I'm not crying." 

Something ran down her chin and fell, splat, on the brocaded cloth folded over her lap. It formed a dark spot, adding to the small collection already littering the fabric. Cocking her head, she touched her face gingerly, discovering wet trails along both cheeks. Baffled, she stared at her wet fingers. 

"Didn't you know you were crying?" he asked gently, cautiously beginning to creep toward her. 

"No." 

"Do you want to talk about whatever's gettin' you down?" 

"I'm not sure," she answered, wiping her face dry with her sleeve. It would be covered by the jacket, which would dry during the flight to the village. 

"Not sure you wanna talk or not sure why your eyes were leaking? 'cause I'm not trying to pry or nothing but," he glanced at the marked wall, closing the distance between them, "you know you can tell me anything, right?" 

Unintentionally, she followed his gaze and winced. 

"Has she been a butt?" he guessed. 

"Not unless she's been staying away on purpose," she answered against her better judgment. 

He frowned, looking between her and the wall. "Like, not showing up?" 

"She won't answer the summons. No one does." 

"Not cool," he muttered, his easy manner from earlier left somewhere in the hallway. "Last time that happened to me, she was trapped. You want me to go in there and check?" 

"No!" she yelped before tempering her voice. "I already tried that. Peppermint Butler couldn't get through." 

He was silent for a beat before asking, "So when's the last time you saw her?" 

"Six months and counting." 

He pulled a face, probably guessing that she could give him a precise date and time. "Why didn't you say anything?" 

"Say what?" she scoffed, standing up to shrug into the decorated jacket. "I'm the queen of the most powerful kingdom in Ooo. I don't get to whine because I miss my girlfriend." 

He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Why not?" 

"We don't have time to dawdle. I need to call a maid to put up my hair," she rebuffed, trying to disguise the way she had reflexively stiffened fighting not to lean against him. 

"I can braid it, if that's good enough," he offered. 

His hand was still on her shoulder. Rather than feeling heavy or oppressive, it was warm and gentle. His grip was light, a strong man able to handle his size deftly, which suddenly made her curious to see if he could manage to braid her hair into anything that didn't resemble a rat's nest. 

"All right," she consented heading for the vanity and as she settled on the stool, she watched him in the mirror following her. 

"Which kind?" he asked, hands hovering over her head as he looked for a brush or comb. 

"You know more than one kind?" 

"Sure. Marcy taught me three, and Lady gets a kick out of it if I braid her mane." 

"I thought Jake was doing that," she commented absently, doing her best to ignore his first revelation. 

Finn and Marceline had been companions for half of Finn's life, Marceline teasing and playing, available in all the ways Bonnibel hadn't been. She imagined them sprawled out on a narrow bed, or tucked together in the shadow of a tree, Marceline sleepy as a sunning cat while Finn played with her hair. First, there was a white hot ball of jealousy that unfurled into envy, then pooled lower into lust. She drew a jerky breath in surprise, then dragged her mind back to the conversation at hand as her temples throbbed sharply with the intensifying headache. 

"Yeah, he does too," Finn answered, completely oblivious to her state of mind. He grinned, grabbing a brush, then glanced in the mirror. "Aw man," he complained, "you got that mopey look again. Why don't you just tell me what's eatin' ya? I swear I won't blab. Heck, I'll royal promise, if you want." 

She was tempted to demand that and then realized, with some alarm, that she was equally tempted to confess her recent thoughts. Would it hurt him to know? She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them wide, blinking several times. Inclining her head, she rubbed her temple at another lancing pain. Was there a logical reason to continue withholding information from him or was she lulled by her perception of him as a fickle teenager? Humans matured more slowly than candy people, but more quickly than she had expected. Procrastination would cost her any opportunity with him. 

She regarded him intently as he began brushing her hair, careful not to catch on knots or tangles. He wasn't beautiful, with the smooth curves and skin Marceline possessed. His body was more angular, deep overlaps of muscle cording his arms, pulling at the fabric of his tunic. His skin was scarred in many places, pale raised lines memoirs of past victories sharp against tanned golden brown. Fine blond hair was visible on his forearms, catching the light as he worked studiously to guide her mass of pink hair into order. He was even growing facial hair, which he kept groomed into clean lines that emphasized his jaw and lips. 

He wasn't beautiful, but she was staring again nonetheless. The word, she decided, was handsome. He was graceful on his feet, able to both duel and dance, and confident in his posture. He had learned when to take the offensive, and when to wait, as he was doing now. In short, he was everything the average candy person was not. She wanted to believe it was simple biological kinship that drew her attention, but she could feel her body temperature rising subtly as it did not in the presence of other humans. 

She lowered her eyes to the white vanity surface, noting that her respiration had slowed as she leant back into the steady brushing. It tickled when he grazed her ears, her nape prickling with every slide through her hair. Sucking in her breath, she opened her eyes wide to discover Finn watching her soberly with darkened eyes. 

Immediately, he dropped his gaze and she felt him dividing her hair in preparation for braiding. Clearing his throat, he asked, "So, which kind?" 

"French, if you can, but set it low so I can fit my crown.” 

"No prob." 

When his fingers brushed her nape, she shuddered. She held her breath but he made no comment, so she steeled herself. There was no reason to keep procrastinating, dancing around the subject Marceline had raised. 

"When I was a little girl," she began, "before I understood why my parents had engineered me into existence, I wanted to be a scientist. I looked at everything and wanted to know the why and how. But my parents built that into me because they wanted me to solve problems like: How do you govern a fundamentally helpless population disinclined toward self-organization? How do you maintain peace? How do you protect your kingdom against hostile invaders? How do you improve the standard of living? To them, science was a tool, not a pursuit." 

When she looked up at Finn to check his reflection, his expression was sympathetic, solemn in his pity. His lips turned down at the corners as she watched, though he continued to braid. 

"That sucks," he said finally. "You wanted to go on adventures but they wanted a robot." 

"Adventures that didn't involve killing anything," she modified. 

He raised a shoulder in a half-shrug matched by a partial smile. "Something tries to kill me, I kill it back. Happens." 

"Yes, and I had work to do," she said, returning to the original topic. 

"Duties and responsibilities," he quoted softly, "and everything you wanted got sacrificed?" 

"More or less. I was used to it by the time I met Marceline," she continued, hands curled tight in her lap, "but she reminded me. She was always going off to have fun and then she would…she would-" 

"Rub your face in it?" 

"Yes," she admitted through gritted teeth. "As if I didn't want to do the same. But I can't in good conscience abandon this responsibility without ensuring there is someone capable of taking my place. Otherwise, all of my work will have been for nothing." 

Finn was quiet for a time, his expression studious as he worked, fingers delicate and precise despite the size of his hands. He nodded slowly to himself. "There's no one else?" 

"None. There isn't a single noble who doesn't routinely require my assistance with basic matters of infrastructure. I've considered marrying into a nearby kingdom but I can't abide any of them on a personal level. Besides, they all rely on me to plan everything too." 

He chewed on his upper lip. "Could you make another kid? Like with Goliad? I mean, that only messed up because of me an' Jake." 

"That's sweet of you to take the blame but, no. I can't say for certain that Goliad became a tyrant purely because of Jake's poor example. Putting aside my neglect due to my impatience to be done, it might have been her nature to be intolerant and controlling all along." She smiled at him through the mirror. "Like me, another Lemongrab, but armed with far more power." 

"You're not so bad," he retorted fondly. "You only get that way when you're worried." 

"Ah, but you don't deny it and, would it be so forgivable if I were cruel and demanding on top of that?" 

"But-" 

She held up a finger. "Think about how much worse it would have been if Goliad had been ruling the kingdom when she became a dictator. I gave too much power to a child, a stupid, arrogant mistake, and I'm a genius!" 

"We all make dumb mistakes." 

"Oh, don't feed me platitudes. A dumb mistake is pouring juice in your cereal, not setting up the destruction of Ooo." 

"You're not supposed to use juice?" 

Only his facetious tone prevented an outburst of anger as she glared at him. 

"Hey," he said, raising an eyebrow, "you're talking to the dude who kept trying to climb tiers with the Flame Princess. I've got dangerously stupid covered." 

"So you do," she agreed evenly, taking note of his casual tone when mentioning his former girlfriend. She waited patiently as he tied off her braid, matching the speculation in his gaze, though he kept a polite silence. "Well, go on, ask," she prompted. 

His head shot up, alarm in his wide blue eyes before he blushed guiltily. "How do you do that?" 

"Observation of related behaviors over an extended period of time." 

"Creepy," he judged. 

"Behavioral psychology and sociology," she corrected. "Ask." 

He slid his hands into his pockets, elbows tucked against his sides. He hesitated before asking, "Did you make Lemongrab and Goliad 'cause you can't have kids? You don't really look like a candy person so I thought, maybe…" He started turning as pink as her skin, dropping his gaze but stammering on, "'cause you look pretty human." 

She did her best to keep the smirk off her lips but failed, feeling the twitch and pull. "I wasn't sure if you'd gotten a good look or not." 

"I said I was sorry!" he blurted out in growing mortification. 

"Yes, about a thousand times," she teased, mood lifting for a second as she watched him squirm. "And the answer is no, I couldn't, even though earlier members of my family could. We ruled as a byproduct of our greater evolution but that ended with me. It almost ended with my parents," she amended absently, knowing he didn't need a technical lecture on the ultimate results of inbreeding and pooled undesirable recessive traits and mutations. "Now, it's just me and my senile great-uncle Gumbald." 

"That really sucks," he offered in commiseration. "That's a pretty good reason to be down," he added, leaning his hip against the corner of the vanity, facing her, arms crossed loosely. Then his expression went slack. "Wait, you said 'couldn't'." 

"That's right," she confirmed, feeling the smile return. 

"Because you're different now," he spoke slowly, voice gaining momentum, " 'cause Marceline changed you when she saved your life…Schmowza! I thought she was just being pervy." 

"I imagine a few people thought that," she said dryly, knowing it for a fact. “No, it was her idea of a gift.” 

"Algebraic!" he crowed, grinning at her, unwittingly turning closer in his glee. 

"In exchange for my eternal loyalty to the Lord of Evil and my second-born child." 

"Um, not so cool." 

"And she'll protect me from all threats and give me whatever I ask for," she added, without mentioning the clause that permitted her to take as much time as she liked before providing that second child. 

"A little more cool. Still rough." He leaned back against the vanity, arms crossed more tightly than earlier. "I can't believe she would do something like that." 

"No one leaves the Nightosphere, remember?" 

He grunted noncommittally. "Pep-butt didn't summon her to help us with the Lich?" 

"No and it certainly didn't occur to me. As far as I knew, she was responsible for all those raids going on back then." 

He frowned slowly, glancing at her to check her reaction. "There was some sort of loophole, wasn't there? Some reason why she could leave and help us…" His head bobbed in thought before he snapped his fingers. "She helps you, she gets your soul? And the kid?" 

"Close enough. I'm legally her consort," Bonnie clarified, grinning a bit at their game of riddles. 

"You're married?" He drew back in astonishment, instantly putting several feet between them, arms dropping out to his sides. 

She opened her mouth to deny his supposition, then closed it in consideration. She leaned on the vanity, hand wrapped around her chin, fingers playing with her lower lip. "I don't think so. At least, I don't think her people view it that way. It's more like she bought me and my services." She wrinkled her nose hearing that out loud. "I should work on a better way to phrase that in case anyone else asks." 

He pulled a face in tacit agreement, then asked in a troubled tone, "So what about your first kid?" 

"My heir, donor of my choice." She licked her lips nervously. "Until recently, my options were you or my uncle, but now I have the new humans. One of them should be suitable." 

He stared at her, blinking several times, then questioned, "Did you just proposition me?" 

"No," she denied quietly. "We both know I passed on that chance years ago. To be fair, you were a child and I have never been attracted to juveniles. I seem driven to nurture them instead, a matter of design to ensure I would care for my subjects, I imagine." 

"You could have told me you cared," he muttered. 

"And then what?" she challenged. "Don't you get it? I pushed you away so I would never feel like your mother." She scrunched her nose at him to express her distaste with the notion. “We sure as gumdrops wouldn't be having this conversation now if I had.” 

He continued to glower at her for a few seconds, but then his expression melted into regretful understanding. He pressed his lips together, eying her warily. "If you had picked me, would you have told me?" 

"I'm telling you now." 

He shook his head tersely. "Nuh uh, not falling for it." 

"All right. If you must know, I would not have burdened you with any obligation." 

He went rigid and silent, the muscles in his jaw and arms flexing as he looked back at her stonily. Finally, he took a deep breath and held her eyes. "If I'm gonna be a dad, I wanna know. I'm not gonna leave my kid the way I was left, and I'm not gonna yell at you 'cause I think you were tryin' to be nice." 

She tilted her head slightly, frowning. "I've offended you." 

"I'm not a little kid. I can handle responsibility." 

"You aren't responsible for my actions," she tried to reassure him. 

"Oh my grod," he wailed holding the sides of his head. "You don't get it! It's my bod! You don't get to do whatever you want with it!" 

"All right," she said in acceptance, even though she had collected sufficient genetic samples from him over years of treating his injuries that it was a moot point. She didn't really grasp his objection, but if it mattered that much to him, she would drop the option. For now. "As I mentioned, I have other options, though you were my preferred choice." 

"That's it? Okay, I'll use someone else?" 

"I can't be squeamish about the future of my kingdom," she snapped irritably, knowing it was her potential freedom, as well. "In my experience lots of peeps aren't too concerned about possible offspring. Pay attention and you'll learn the same." 

He visibly deflated, lips parting in shock before he covered his mouth with his hand and turned away from her. 

She sighed heavily, decisions no less weighty for having shared them. It was never fair. She stood, leaning on the vanity surface before examining her hair using a hand-held mirror coupled with the larger unit. Finn had done an excellent job, as usual. Regardless of his rejection, she could always count on his faith and loyalty. Going back to the bed, she picked up her crown and set it back on her head. 

"C'mon," she said, stretching her neck and shoulders, "we should go. I've wasted enough time on myself." 

"Wait," he protested sharply, stepping in front of her and using his size to unfair advantage. "You can't expect me to make that sort of decision on the spot like that." 

She squinted at him quizzically. "Finn, you have given me and my kingdom more than anyone would reasonably expect. You wanted to know what's been bothering me and I told you because I respect you. For the same reason, I asked, and you've already given a perfectly acceptable answer. Don't feel you need to…" She inhaled carefully past the constriction in her chest. "You're a good person because you always do what you feel is right. Don't change on my account." 

He gave her the oddest look, but allowed her to go when she made to pass him. She went directly to a set of narrow cabinets where she stored her growing collection of weaponry. Most of it was fairly advanced but she needed a simple tool for today. Unlocking a door, she removed a delicate looking saber wrapped in a decorated sword belt. Fumbling a bit, she strapped it around her waist, completing her ensemble. 

"How do I look?" she asked, holding out her arms and making a full turn. 

Finn's expression was inscrutable, feet planted a shoulder-width apart, thumbs hooked back through his belt loops. 

"What? Something doesn't match?" 

"Naw, it's great," he complimented grudgingly, turning away quickly. "Let's go." 

He walked beside her in an apparent contemplative silence until they reached the courtyard. Above them, Lady was twisting and turning, a black silhouette in the bright sky as she flew down with a cheery greeting. Bonnibel braced for the sharp lancing pain of light sensitivity when she looked up but nothing happened. The headache was gone. 

"Hey, Lady!" Finn waved in response but when she spoke again, he grimaced. "Something about Jake and a bucket?" 

Bonnibel giggled, burying her hands in Lady's mane and scratching her along her crest. "Jake had to go get some groceries," she corrected. 

"Man, I suck at Korean and I'm trying," he emphasized as Lady whickered in amusement. "It's not fair. You make it seem easy." 

While Bonnibel wasn't the best at discerning subtle emotions, she knew he had been furious with her a few minutes earlier. She understood anger pretty well but he seemed positively jovial now. His manner was relaxed and friendly, as if they hadn't been arguing at all. In his place, Marceline would have continued fuming incessantly. It was a pleasant contrast, if utterly confusing. 

"Keep trying and you'll get it eventually," she replied vaulting herself onto Lady's back. 

"Before I'm dead?" he quipped, hopping up behind her. 

She went rigid in surprise when his hands settled around her waist, wrapping around her easily. She knew he didn't need the extra grip, his legs were strong enough to keep him seated. He was no novice; over the years they had ridden Lady together too many times to count. He had even held onto her, but never after such a sensitive and nerve-wracking conversation. 

"Something wrong?" he asked in far too innocent a tone. "You feel like you're gonna jump straight into the sky on your own," he added, tucking himself closer until his knees bumped the back of hers. 

Lady craned her sinuous head around to regard them with dark, perceptive eyes. 

Bonnibel gritted her teeth again, simultaneously trying to maintain her composure while arching her back away from Finn's chest. "There is plenty of room and you know plum well that Lady won't let you fall, Finn." 

"Isn't it rad how she makes my name sound like an insult?" he joked in Lady's direction, then dipped his head over Bonnibel's shoulder, bristly hair tickling her ear as he murmured, "Not so funny when someone's doing it to you, huh?" 

She thrust her elbow back in a vicious jab but he merely grunted and laughed. 

Lady waggled her ears. "Oh, honey, what have you been doing? Is this some lover's spat?" 

"No," Bonnibel said firmly. 

"But she wants to," Finn interposed. 

"You don't even know what she said," Bonnibel countered crossly. 

"I bet I can guess though." 

"Is he right?" Lady heckled, leaping into the air and spiraling up toward some wispy clouds. 

Bonnibel dug her heels into Lady's sides, aiming for her soft underbelly. 

Lady laid back her ears and snorted but ceased pestering. 

Bonnibel huffed, twisting her fingers in the silky, golden mane and focused on tempering the coiled aggravation in her guts. Though Lady was her dearest friend, her childhood companion, the sister who never demanded more than honesty and respect, Bonnibel did not want to deal with invasive questions. She had bared enough of herself this morning and had nothing to show for it. It had been worth a try, she reminded herself and took comfort in that logic, doing her best to ignore Finn's temporary embrace. 

* * *

Marceline leaned against what passed for a window frame in the citadel, rough-hewn stone arching over her head, the window massive enough to pass as a doorway. Thick, spelled glass blocked out the noise from the rampant chaos below as soldiers in bloodied uniforms danced around bonfires, joined by revelers from the city. She thought about joining them, losing herself in the wild beat of dance, but knew it wouldn't work. She could disguise herself but she reckoned it would slip as her mind wandered, self-control lapsing under the amulet's influence. They would recognize her and shrink back in fear and deep-rooted respect. 

So she remained where she was, a bottle of red wine dangling from one hand, the other in her pocket. Her suit was wet, clammy, itching where it began to dry against her skin. Her boots squelched when she shifted her weight, but she wanted the solidity. She could float on later, some other time, when memories of battle weren't pressing her down like a familiar, lead yoke. 

She had fought since she was a child, traveling with Simon. He had done most the fighting at first, protecting her from bestial zombies and bizarre mutants at the cost of his sanity. Later, when he began forgetting her – replacing her in his mind with some long lost Gunter – she began to use her claws and teeth, leaping upon enemies like a jungle cat or wolf and rending them into pieces. She discovered by accident in moments of terrified desperation that she could summon fire and the obedience of the dead. 

She remembered the first time she raised the dead in Simon's presence. They had been fleeing a gang intent on beating and mugging them, maybe eating them. As she ran, Simon rose into the air, taking the offensive without noticing that their pursuers had split into two groups. The second force spilled in behind Simon, surrounding Marceline and no matter how much she screamed for help, Simon kept ranting and attacking the first party. 

She had wanted so desperately for someone to come help them, anyone; she had willed it so intently that the dead had shuffled up from nearby buildings, ruined vehicles and rubble. With burnt and radiation-blackened flesh sloughing off them, they advanced mercilessly on the humans. Maybe Simon had been horrified, but by the time he reached her, it had been to ask her with an adult's false calm to 'please put them back'. 

She hadn't been able to and she now knew it was impossible, short of killing the zombies again. All she could do was order them to stop and hold still, waiting for decomposition to destroy their rotten bodies. 

Simon never lectured or reprimanded her for it. Yet he must have noticed her physical appearance, the eyes, teeth and ears, the skin a naturally unnatural shade. He must have seen how strong she was, how she could leap far higher and farther than a normal human, how she could see in the dark and smolder in the cold, or summon fire to shield herself from it. He never questioned her ability to eat raw meat, though he did put his foot down at cannibalism. 

She had been too young and hungry to care when he found her. Nor had she been the only person to resort to it during those years after the war. Despite everything, the only thing she could recall seeing in his eyes was pity, grief and kindness. 

Her powers were a blessing then on the day Simon rose into the air and never returned – the Ice King flying off on a rampage to replace his lost Gunter with a damn penguin. That poor animal. The more he called it by that name, the more it gained sentience, the more it knew itself trapped in a form of slavery to a mad king. She had always wondered if she had remained by Simon's side whether she would have been enslaved by that name as well. At least Gunter was thriving in the Night. 

Later, it was her turn to leave. She left her father and his maniacal rule of the Nightosphere for an equally dark and filthy world above. The memories were dim with age, from a time when sooty clouds with acidic rain still smothered most of the planet, but she could recall the meaningful bits. Or maybe they were just the dramatic bits, the truly significant moments fleeting and forgotten. Either way, she could remember sitting on a throne, ruling as a consort to another self-anointed king. 

The throne had been a stage prop about as sturdy as one would expect of particle board and wood screws, covered in cheap paint and rhinestones which looked great from a distance. She and Clint had dragged it behind them out of the ruins of some university drama department, laughing like children as they conspired to play king and queen. It hadn't been designed for comfort, but she hadn't sat in it until the fateful day when one king battled another for her affection. 

Simon hadn't understood that there was any danger. He had just wanted to visit his 'little Marcy' during a moment of lucidity and she had been perfectly willing to humor him. It hadn't been too long since he had abandoned her in a fit of madness, since she had traded an unreliable foster father for an obsessively controlling, demanding and neglectful birth father. Taking what she needed and leaving before things could get awkward hadn't yet become her life's philosophy, so she'd been happy to see Simon again. 

He flew into the abandoned government building unannounced, casually freezing lesser vampires who got in his way, chortling in genuine amusement at their pitiful attempts to belay him. It wasn't the flying, but how he had aged so considerably that shocked her into silence for those crucial seconds. That fraction of a moment had her lover, the most powerful vampire alive, rising from his throne and challenging the wizard. 

Her eyes moved between the decrepit blue man, warped into a positively demonic form by his supernatural crown and its malignant spirit, and Clint, the kindest, most indulgent man she had ever met. The former was babbling but she couldn't recall his warnings, lecture, or whatever it had been except for one phrase issued in laconic mockery, the smug undertone rippling and repeating in her mind, suggesting the truth she had reluctantly suspected more than once. 

"Of course he picked you, the devil's daughter. Gotta have the best for the Vampire King!" 

Her gaze had frozen on her lover, on his powdery blond bangs partially shielding his eyes, which glowed in fury, the faint stubble he affected and the bared fangs. He had never hurt her, never threatened her, never so much as wounded her feelings. He listened to her every complaint, every aggrieved sorrow and offered her a pact. He would give her the power to defy her father for all eternity if she would be at his side. 

Half human, she had merely been potential food for the vampires and other monsters crawling the decimated planet. Half human, she was bound to cower and run if her father sent minions to retrieve his errant daughter so that she might complete her royal education. 

She remembered meeting Clint for the first time as he sat on a log under the overcast sky, around a fire with others of his kind. He strummed an acoustic guitar, singing some silly ballad, his face hidden by a wide-brimmed Stetson, the flannel and jeans icons of a forgotten age. She remembered playing duets with him, ancient tunes dancing through her memories 

But in that moment when Simon arrived, she couldn't recall any of that, except to remember how it had been Simon who had placed her hand on the frets and taught her the first chords, who drummed a rhythm on any nearby surface to help her keep time. He had taught her to read and write, told her ancient myths and legends, explained simple mathematics and scientific principles, and showed her how to build a shelter against devastating weather. He had taught her how to speak through song. 

She saw fear in Clint's eyes before he looked away from her, turning his back to face his bizarre opponent and she heard him shout insults and curses at Simon. She had been too young and stupid to realize that the Vampire King had learned of the musical demoness, had understood how to lure her in order to secure a hold against the demon that spawned the first vampires. She had never considered such premeditated manipulation but then, Clint was older than he looked. 

It was that fear that had her ribs creaking from ragged, unnecessary breaths, fighting once more but this time against shocked tears. They were so pitiful compared to mutants, zombies or starvation yet it was impossible to overcome them. The king had wooed her, turned her, convinced her that she had no choice but to do his bidding. He was the strongest vampire of them all, sovereign of the refuse pile of dead humans, and he was afraid of her. He was scared. He was weak and he had tricked her into playing second fiddle to impress his subjects. 

It might have been a tremendous battle if she hadn't summoned fire, the flames beating forth with her growing fury. She had filled the room with it, licking hot and high, consuming every lesser vampire present with ruthless ferocity. Simon too fell to the carpet, his powers negated by the sheer heat, but Clint lasted longer. 

It was as he fought and struggled that she realized how much stronger she truly was and marveled at how easily he had kept her ignorant of that superiority. How he flailed as she grew larger into an impossible monster that slapped him easily back into the wall of fire. How he squirmed like a bug when she impaled him on a giant claw, neatly bisecting his chest and scooping out a small gray heart. It was rubbery and difficult to chew, but she swallowed it just to watch Clint beg and scream. 

Only the whimper from Simon reminded her to kill the flames, smoke flooding the room as ash fell like carcinogenic snow. He didn't know her when she picked him up and carried him outside. He didn't know her when he dusted off his tattered clothing, grumbling about the mess and stink of wet smoke. He didn't know her when he paused to stare curiously, a proud smile ghosting across his face before it was replaced by agitated confusion. 

She landed them on a nearby rocky outcrop and set Simon on his bare, wrinkled feet before looking to the horizon. In any direction, the sky was flat gray, sun curtained by ash for centuries as the world healed from radiation burns. Losing the ability to live in the sun had been meaningless then, when vampires roamed at all times and were the only alternative to being eaten by zombies or killed randomly by mutants. Surviving humans were making the choices they could, desperate to survive at whatever cost, and she had been no different. 

Simon had smiled – a wide mouth full of crooked fangs – and flirted clumsily with her, inviting her back to his castle. He told her it was real swell and had plenty of room and wouldn't she love to hang out with a real Ice King? 

She mentally gagged and had shoved him away, appalled that she had chosen a madman over her former lover, no matter his motivation for wooing her. Shooting high into the frigid atmosphere, Simon tried to follow her, but she lost him in the muffling cloud cover, acidic droplets of toxic rain stinging her skin. She flew until she tired, landing atop a shrouded mountain to rest and look down upon the land. With no one to judge, she cried, tears dribbling down her cheeks as she moaned over one more injustice. Alone again. 

A few tears never hurt but her stomach cramped with hunger after the series of exertions. As far as they eye could see the land was gray and black. Nothing grew, no plants to feed animals, no food for the surviving humans beyond stored goods. They were dying. Everyone was dying, one way or another. She would die if she ran out of blood, and there were probably more vampires than humans roaming the countryside. 

She could eat them, she mused idly, hands loose on her knees as she sat on the edge of a cliff. They might taste funny, but she could feed off their rank blood. She could destroy them and their empty promises one by one until they were outnumbered by the humans again. She could take them until… Until what? Until the sun peeked out through the clouds again, crisping the survivors? She tried to imagine the sun, but it was a distant, early childhood memory. 

She didn't know if the sun could actually kill her, though she had tried sitting in the sunrise over the centuries, letting the caustic light pour over her skin until she melted. No one had heard her screams of fury when she discovered that she did not burst into ash, did not die as promised by myth and legend. It was all a load of bunk, fancy stories people told each other to feel better about life, to give it meaning or purpose, like religion. 

Marceline remembered her mother praying to a painting on the wall of a funny-looking, white woman holding an equally odd baby, lighting candles and kneeling with her necklace of beads. She would repeat the same little prayers over and over until she finished with "Amen", as if it meant something. Her mother had claimed God would protect them, her father would protect them because he was God's servant. 

Well, no one had protected them. Her father had knelt down in his suit, a wide inhuman grin as he held Marceline's shoulder and bade her farewell. He told her to be good to her mother, to pay attention in school and do her homework and to stop biting people she didn't like. He mussed her hair and called her his little monster, then prodded her through the portal because her weekend visit with him was at its end. Daddy was busy, always so busy, and the school week had begun. Little Marcy needed to rejoin her mother topside. 

So she stepped through the portal in a ritual as familiar as her mother's beads and went from the Nightosphere to hell on Earth. She had gaped at where the walls had been, the house a blackened ruin around her. She had gaped a second too long, the portal swirling shut behind her, though she backed up until her shoulders bumped against the remains of a couch. Everything was burning and she could hear moans from all directions so she called for her mother. 

She cried and searched until she realized the weird, misshapen lump in the kitchen contained bones and a skull. She had seen that in the Nightosphere. She knew what a charred corpse looked like but she ran from it. That dead thing wasn't her mother. It couldn't be her mother. She ran back into the ruins of her house and there was one of those stupid paintings, peeking out from under the wrecked television. Apparently, God had protected it. 

Shying away from those memories, Marceline raised her shoulder and pressed it against her cheek, wiping away the moisture collecting there. What a stupid thing to remember. The past was the past and life never changed, so the past was the future. She smiled, thinking that Bonnibel would rip that logic to shreds or have a hernia over it. She would denounce it as irrational, as a defeatist excuse to avoid making an effort. She would probably be right. 

Tipping the bottle of wine she filled her mouth, drawing out the color and swallowing the liquid remains for the alcohol. It wasn't very strong but if she drank enough of it, the edges of reality would blur enough so they no longer cut. Right about then, the room lit up in a flash of fire and Marceline drooped her eyelids, sighing in disgust. 

"Lady Abadeer, please forgive my intrusion," said the Flame Queen. 

Marceline leaned more pointedly against the stone, glancing at the queen reprovingly. "You know, it's never really a good idea to come here," she drawled lazily, then warned, "No one leaves the Nightosphere." 

The queen flared up at the threat but settled quickly back into a slow burn, drawing closer to stop at a respectful distance, although she towered over Marceline. "I wished to speak to you of a personal matter in private." 

Rolling her eyes, Marceline took another drink. "Having regrets over sending Finn to me?" 

"No. I believe the experience helped him understand how fundamentally incompatible we are despite his sincere affection. He fights what he is to prove his love to me, but I do not doubt it. He should not fight his nature." 

"Fire philosophy," Marceline noted with a shrug. "Ever ask him what he believes?" 

"When you love someone, you try," Flame Queen quoted promptly. "It is…an admirable philosophy and I value all that he taught me." 

"Admirable," Marceline repeated contemptuously. "I held him while he cried over you. People and their beliefs," she continued with a sneer at all the games people played in the name of politics and politesse. "Why are you here? Regretting your choices? Looking for revenge?" 

The light behind her flared up again, illuminating the room before it dimmed. "If I sought to retaliate against you, I wouldn't come here and if I wanted to retaliate against Queen Bubblegum, it wouldn't be over Finn," Flame Queen replied testily. "It would be over that cursed jar and her broken promise." 

Marceline dangled the bottle of wine by its neck, swinging it back and forth absently. She had visited the Fire Kingdom multiple times over the millennium. She had seen it in its early stages as a lava field deep within a fissure and more recently during the Flame King's rule. She had known about his daughter in the jar, seen her in fact, when the young girl had insisted on seeing their vampire visitor. But the wild varieties of cultures and species in Ooo, their unique habits and behaviors had taught her to refrain from interfering with their methods. That and Simon's lessons on tolerance. 

Her father could have imprisoned her in the Nightosphere to force conversion if he had been less kind and tolerant. So she understood how unfair it would be to have to interact with everyone from behind a glass wall, to spend an entire childhood in one room that served as a prison cell with no door. 

"Are you aware it was your consort who convinced my father to put me in that jar?" 

The bottle stilled. "No." 

"If I wanted to hold a grudge, it wouldn't be out of some foolish jealousy over a human, Lady Abadeer. I have reasons enough to hate." 

Marceline raised the bottle, taking another deep pull of the wine. "Is that what you came here to tell me? That Bonnie saved your life?" The flames in the fireplace and the wall sconces surged higher for a moment, the room glowing as bright as the city outside. Impervious to burning, Marceline ignored the wall of heat, not a hair singed. "You know what your people do with unstable flames or sparks too weak to catch," she continued relentlessly. She snapped her fingers, extinguishing the wall sconces. 

Flame Queen was quiet for a minute, the crackle and pop of fire lulling Marceline. She couldn't argue with the truth. Being the king's daughter wouldn't have changed her fate. The real question was why Bonnibel had cared enough to help. Had the Fire King gone to her, knowing she was a scientist, hoping she could invent a solution? Had she owed him a favor? Or was it simple kindness? 

"It might have been better if he had snuffed me out when I was born," Flame Queen said eventually. 

"If you really believed that, you could starve yourself out," Marceline snapped. 

"I was locked up until I turned thirteen, and only released because Finn interfered in my father's plans. I might have been trapped my entire life because my father lacked the courage to extinguish his mistake." 

"I was imprisoned once for over twenty years by a nutter who wanted a pet vampire," Marceline mused, ignoring the rant. “Circumstances change if you wait.” 

"As a child?" 

"No, I spent my childhood starving and terrified due to my father's neglect. Oh!" Marceline feigned surprise, "that's right. Your father cared about you. Whoops." She shifted, growing larger and misshapen to meet Flame Queen at eye level. "You have five seconds to tell me why you're here or I snuff you out like those torches." 

Flame Queen grabbed the wine bottle, tipping it back and forth to check the remaining level. "You are a mean drunk," she declared, unfazed by the threat. 

"Mean's part of my job. Four, three, two-" 

"Don't hurt Finn. I won't hurt her if you don't hurt him." 

Marceline melted down into her humanoid form, cracking the shifting bones in her neck and snatching back the bottle. "Why would I hurt him?" she asked, filing away the Flame Queen's promised retaliation. 

"By accident. You wouldn't intend it, but you would. He's kind and far more sensitive than he lets on. I don't want to see him hurt again." 

Marceline frowned. "He wasn't crying over me, was he?" 

"He was very upset when you killed those humans." 

"Old news and he was crying over them, not me. Besides, what do you care about humans?" 

"I don't, except to know that their presence makes Finn happy. It is always comforting to know there are others like you in the world." 

"I wouldn’t know." 

"That is why I thought you might listen. I am not like my subjects, although I resemble them. As I understand it, you are partly human though you appear to be a demon like any other. But I see I was mistaken to assume you possessed any of the empathy Finn does." 

"A lot of humans lack empathy, Your Majesty. You really shouldn't judge the species by one individual, especially not Finn. He's pretty math for a human, all good and kind and noble and stuff. Most of them aren't like that." Marceline turned to look at her, the woman made of fire. "They're okay so long as they feel safe and happy but as soon as humans get scared, they get vicious, like you wouldn't believe." 

"Is that why demons interbreed with them so often?" 

"Probably," Marceline admitted without missing a beat. 

She looked back out through the window at the rocky jumble of semi-sentient buildings surrounded by moats of lava and fire, the hundreds, thousands of demons scuttling about on myriad limbs, others flying on jagged wings in a red sky. Even the river of demons awaiting her grace was a constant, slow flow of motion. So long as everything was moving, all was good. She was watching for lulls in that activity, stagnation or calm. 

"Even if that's true, I don't want to see it happen to him. Please be careful with him," Flame Queen said firmly, then added more reluctantly, "He is a dear friend, my best friend." 

Marceline leaned against the wall, scraping at dried blood under her nails. He was a dear friend, but he would be gone one day like so many others. Maybe it would happen sooner than she hoped, but it was inevitable. She looked at Flame Queen and wondered if the fire elemental understood how lucky she was in that respect. Her people lived brief but bright lives. Even with Finn's risk-taking, he might still outlive her. 

"Why are you asking me this? I don't have any influence with him and he hasn't talked to me since getting mad." 

Flame Queen's fire flickered oddly as she cocked her head. "You don't know." 

Marceline narrowed her eyes, grinding her teeth as the queen unwittingly stepped on a sore point. How the heck was she supposed to know what was going on topside if no one ever summoned her to share the news? 

"Maybe you should start at the beginning," Marceline growled, though she could guess where this story was going from all the comments about Finn. 

She wrapped her fingers tightly around the bottle, careful not the break it. Doubtless, Flame Queen was picking up on the response and she was loathe for her to witness a more emotional display. Besides, it was what she wanted. It was for the best. She had basically blackmailed Bonnibel into as much of a relationship as they had and knew better than to expect more. She fixed her gaze outside, extending her senses to check the pulse of the city below, hoping for a lull. 

The Flame Queen spoke quietly, dispassionately. "Queen Bubblegum has been spending greater amounts of time in Finn's company, often accompanying him when not strictly necessary or inviting him to dine at the castle. He is her champion, so I would expect them to associate closely at times. Also, he has become a figurehead among the surviving humans in their village, so perhaps she is using him to keep tabs on them. Nevertheless, what I have witnessed of their behavior…She watches him when he isn't aware and seems more intimate, more likely to reveal personal information than she has in the past." 

"Well, I guess it would take a creeper to know one," Marceline muttered, understanding that Flame Queen could travel almost instantly to any source of fire. Using that method, she could spy easily from any candle, torch or Bunsen burner. But Marceline wasn't one to talk about spying on people while functionally invisible. 

"I am sorry. I thought she had shared her intentions." 

Marceline shrugged, draining the last of the bottle and tossing it over her shoulder, listening to it break. "It's the logical solution to her problem." 

"Yes. She can be very convincing." 

"I suggested it. She was against getting between you two." 

Marceline felt the heat intensify beside her and prepared to defend herself if it came to a fight. The fire couldn't hurt her; she could control it, maybe better than the unstable queen could. It might be for the best to get this over with now, considering the queen's earlier threats. 

Flame Queen sighed, tempering her fire. "Forgive my response but I sent him to you because I know he does not adore you romantically as he does her. I knew you would treat him kindly but send him back to me. Surely you are aware of his feelings toward her?" 

"Sure, but if I gotta choose between your feelings and her future, I'm gonna choose her every time. I'd say it's nothing personal, except it's really personal," Marceline said, watching Flame Queen warily. 

"You would risk my wrath, generations of alliance between our nations, over a woman?" 

"I guess I suck at altruism that way," Marceline said in confirmation, drawing on the amulet in preparation. 

"Yet send that woman into the arms of another," Flame Queen continued speaking as if she hadn't heard the response. She chuckled. 

Marceline didn't see what was so funny about the situation but she also wanted the conversation to be over, so she grunted noncommittally. 

"It would seem that I was correct." 

On guard, Marceline checked her position. 

"It is a terrible thing to love someone for whom you are ill-suited," Flame Queen said stonily. "All the more ironic for I do not believe Finn can be a king." 

"Because he's a commoner?" Marceline asked cautiously. 

"No, because he is kind and sees the best in everyone," Flame Queen said, putting her hand against the thick, spelled glass of the window. "Last month, a flame lord attempted to assassinate me. Finn was with me at the time and intervened. He demanded we 'talk it out' and so I humored him. After he left, I tracked down the flame lord before he could hide and snuffed him out. I can only hope that Finn never notices." 

Wrapping her arms around her stomach, Marceline relaxed slightly. She considered what Flame Queen said and wondered if it was true. Finn was noble, honest and at his best when he could do what he believed right. A ruler rarely could, and much of politics was tediously frustrating. She decided that the queen was right. He would get bored and angry over the constant, often petty, injustices. 

She rubbed her fingers over her lips, thinking about Bonnibel. "I don't think Bonnie wants to make him king. She likes being in charge and he'd hate it. She's smart enough to know that." 

"She is using him." 

Marceline stiffened, then shrugged one shoulder. "I guess. Maybe. I don't know. I haven't seen either of them in months. Even if she is, sometimes that's all you can do, borrow someone for a while." 

Flame Queen sighed again. "I understand. Marriages of convenience are common among my people. I am hoping to avoid a similar fate but…" She looked into the window morosely and Marceline realized she was watching her reflection, "Finn cannot provide me with an heir. My people barely tolerate him, no matter his heroic deeds. I fear it will break his heart when I…" 

Unclasping her arms, Marceline jammed her hands into her trouser pockets. "Like I said, letting those two get together is the best solution. He'll have someone to fall back on if you get married to some prissy fire lord and Bonnie will have someone who doesn't scare the crap out of all her subjects. She'll get that heir she's been trying to cook up, he'll have his little human friends and a hundred years from now, it won't matter. Your great-grand kid will be ruling the Fire Kingdom and I'll be the same as always." 

"Drunk and angry?" 

"I can't get drunk. It was red and my dad had a whole cave full of the stuff." 

Flame Queen kept watching her reflection. "Your solution is terrible," she said after a moment. "Even if Finn seeks out sex and physical comfort from others, I hope to retain his affection and I believe it is within his heart to do so. You will not even try to achieve her love?" 

Marceline turned her head balefully. Whatever sympathy she had been developing for Flame Queen evaporated into hostility. 

"I beg your pardon. I've overstepped my bounds," Flame Queen said evenly. "I came here because I believed you aware of your consort's intentions, but I was mistaken. I beg your leave." 

Marceline glowered sullenly and considered killing her instead but recalled the delight on Finn's face whenever he talked about his FP. Her death was something he would never forgive or forget, so she waved a hand and opened a portal to the Fire Kingdom. 

Inclining her head in a formal, regal bow, Flame Queen disappeared into a line of fire that withdrew into the portal. 

Simon walked quietly, but Marceline could hear the rustle of his leathery wings as he approached. Behind him came the scampering of smaller feet followed by the sounds of glass being picked up and taken away. She almost expected some of the house demons to flock to her and try and clean away the blood soaking her suit, but they knew better. 

"I overheard most of that, if you were wondering," Simon said, a gravelly reluctance muffling his voice. He cleared his throat. "I know things can seem grim here in the Night, but I'm sure she'll summon you pretty soon. She's probably just busy." 

"I'm sure she is," Marceline said, too tired to be sarcastic in the face of his reassuring lies. 

"And I'm sure she cares," he said, either missing the warning in her voice or ignoring it. 

"No," she said flatly, turning to face him. "I know you're trying to help, to be a good friend, Si', but she doesn't. She tolerates me. She doesn't care the way I…" She needed to take a breath at the stab of pain, exhaling it away. The alcohol helped, though not as much as she wished, given her physiology. "And that's okay. As long as she tolerates me, I'm happy." 

Simon regarded her solemnly before fiddling with his tie. He nodded faintly as if to himself, clearly thinking better of whatever he had wanted to say. 

She knew he remembered most of his actions as the Ice King. He definitely remembered his chronic habit of kidnapping young women, princesses, out of a misbegotten desire to regain a fiancée who had died during the war. He had no leg to stand on when it came to acting out socially unacceptable desires and how best to handle them. When it came down to it, that was the problem the board had with her actions. 

They considered her too nice, too soft, seeing evidence in her attraction to a noble, mortal woman. Putting aside that they obviously didn't know Bonnibel that well if they missed her psychopathic tendencies, she wanted them to be right. She had rejected her father and the world he represented at a young age. While part of that had been simple teenage rebellion, she had been making a conscious moral choice. She had wanted to live life as Simon had shown her, not bend to demon mores and culture. She had wanted to retain her humanity. 

But here she was and the amulet was changing her inexorably into her father's child. It reminded her of Ooo's early days, shortly after she began hunting down the vampires in a self-appointed quest. She had told herself she was ridding a struggling new world of vermin, freeing the emerging population from predation, but she had equated the vampires to demons. Killing them hadn't changed who she was and it hadn't undone what the Clint's bite had done to her. 

It had been so easy to stop caring and party hard instead, to go on adventures as if she were a teenage boy and his dog with no responsibility to anyone. Whatever responsibilities Finn was discovering were easier to bear than the ones foisted on her, with far less consequence. Though she wanted to see Bonnibel again, she couldn't shake the feeling that one day Finn would recognize the changes in her. He would finally see her as one of the monsters he always fought. 

And then what? Would Bonnibel hand over a child and warn Marceline to never return? She would have a child, a part of Bonnie to cherish, and she would do her best but it would grow up. It would become an unpredictable, violent adult either intent on escaping her authority or supplanting it. One day her child, her love for a mortal, would spell her end. It was the way of the Night. 

Marceline tasted the bile of fear, something she hadn't during the entire earlier battle. "I should go wash this mess off, get a bite to eat, leave everyone to their party." 

"Anything in particular?" Simon asked. 

"Something sweet, if you can find it. Berries, or at least some jello," she said wearily, heading for the central hall.


	4. Chapter 4

Finn's plan to aggravate Bubblegum backfired a few minutes into the flight when he realized that officially being informed that she was available was having some undesirable results on his anatomy. And there was no way she would miss it with those tight pants she was wearing. Though, would she know what a hard-on was? She probably read about it in a book or some junk. There might even have been pictures. 

He didn't want to risk it. He did his best to shift away from her, trying to make it seem as if the natural undulation of Lady's body was pushing them apart. Maybe she would be too busy thinking about royal junk to notice his squirming. With the wind and turbulence making it impossible to hold a conversation, he wouldn't find out if his subterfuge had been a success until Bubblegum either made a snippy comment or acted oblivious. 

Lady craned her head to eye him slyly as he carefully wriggled free of Bubblegum's butt. He held a finger in front of his lips and glowered at the rainicorn. She shook her mane, gave a smug, horsey smile and turned back to face the direction she was traveling. 

Picking up on the exchange, Bubblegum started to look at him over her shoulder, then clearly thought better of it. She pushed away some errant strands of hair whipping in her eyes, barely visible past her lashes and ignored him. 

Yup. He was getting an earful when they landed. Maybe she would tell him what the heck was behind her one-eighty. He appreciated everything she had explained about wanting a life free from royal obligations. He understood that she needed to produce an heir of some sort, using whatever method she judged most practical, and he got that she seriously owed Marceline. 

What he didn't understand – found suspicious – was her apparent romantic interest in him. Based on everything he had seen, she cared about Marceline, like a lot, but that didn't meant Bubblegum would hook up with him on her say-so. That was weird beyond weird, beyond her usual level of slightly cray, beyond even Marceline's odd sense of humor. Nope. Something was up. 

He wouldn't put it past Bubblegum to have ignored and set aside affection for him just as she had claimed. He had done the same over her, after all, and had witnessed the results of her doing the same to Marceline. It was totally possible, if slightly soul-crushing. He imagined her knowing what she felt and pushing it down while observing his dangerous relationship with FP and experienced sympathetic nausea. 

He had never been able to compartmentalize his emotions like that. If nothing else, the sour taste in his mouth helped get rid of his lingering erection. Thank grod for Bubblegum acting cold as ice, even if he knew for a fact that she wasn't. 

He forced his hands to relax, fingers hooked loosely over her hips. The woman had some serious muscles hidden under her usual dresses and he felt each one tense or release as she maintained her seat on Lady from years of practice. That was the other thing. He was pretty sure she was old enough to be his grandma. Most old folks he knew were crafty dudes and she was the craftiest of the bunch. Marceline was way older and nowhere near as casually sneaky as Bubblegum could be. 

So he had pretty good reasons to dodge her advances, but as rational as those were, his fingers itched. He wanted to spread his hands along her thighs and scoot back closer. He pressed his lips together, chiding himself. She had known exactly what she was doing, telling him she meant to pick someone as a genetic donor. He would say father but with her, there was no telling. She probably wanted to cook up something in a vat. 

Technically, they already had a kid named Stormo but he wasn't sure it counted if he never had an opportunity to be a dad. Jake's pups had grown super fast but even he had had that privilege. But Stormo had grown up duking it out with Goliad and would likely never know anything different. 

Finn did want kids but with a proper family, as he had told her, parents who cared and paid attention. It had become a source of conflict between him and FP when she explained that it was impossible for a fire elemental and a watery human to throw a spark. He had hoped regardless, telling himself that Bubblegum would find a way. He had fooled himself until the day FP, queen by then, crouched down to cradle him in his protective flame shield, a touch he couldn't feel. She had told him, so kindly in the formal tones she had adopted with her rank, that his body had no fire within. It was impossible. 

He was surrounded by impossible women. 

His musings were cut short by their landing. Bubblegum knocked his shin lightly with her heel, prompting him to dismount so she could follow suit. He hustled, looking around to spot a small assembly of people waiting to greet them. 

Seth and Ruthie, of course, and their son Samuel. Janine Marino was with them, probably because she wanted first dibs on any new gossip, although her son Lawrence was absent. 

He turned back to offer Bubblegum a hand to help her down – a gesture the humans would expect – but she was already standing beside him. He smiled sheepishly. 

Bubblegum leaned close to Lady's ear, speaking quietly, then patted her on the neck. As Lady lifted back up into the sky, she stepped past him, back ramrod straight, a familiar smile gracing her face. 

"Seth, Ruthie, it's nice to see you again." 

"We're, uh, glad you could make it, Your Majesty," Seth stammered, his voice firming up as he drew back his shoulders, conscious of a growing audience. 

Ruthie was clearly fighting back a smile but she held back, allowing her husband to take the lead. Finn knew she was responsible for keeping the humans' town organized but they all liked to pretend Seth was in charge. He thought that was kind of strange, but the humans had certain notions of what men and women should and shouldn't do. It was going to make things awkward. He just knew it. 

Bubblegum walked forward as Seth did and Finn followed behind her, mirroring Ruthie. Cocking her head slightly, Bubblegum looked at Seth, then over to Ruthie. Her smile never wavering, she returned her attention to Seth. 

He gestured, grinning despite his obvious unease. "Well now, why don't y'all come into town an' we'll show you around." 

Finn fought off some tension himself. He was friends with almost everyone in town, his company a casual affair, welcome at any time. But right now, his gait was stiff as he maintained a discreet distance behind and to the right of Bubblegum. It would give her a clear path to draw and use her sword, if necessary. It seemed the thing to do, although she hadn't instructed him specifically. In the process, he found himself parallel with Ruthie. 

She threw him a suppressed grin followed by a conspiratorial wink. 

He had to bite his lip to prevent a guffaw. At least his boss really was in charge. He frowned right on top of it, catching Janine trailing along behind them. She wasn't a bad sort but she loved to talk and often snooped to get ahold of juicy news. Wiping all amusement off his face, he aimed his gaze ahead. 

Beside him, Ruthie hid her amusement as well, rolling her eyes after flicking them in Janine's direction. He almost smirked at her little sigh of disgust. 

By this point, they were in the central alley of the enclosed town, affectionately dubbed Main Street. Seth had relaxed as he pointed out new buildings or features and Bubblegum peppered him with questions. 

The two largest buildings faced each other. To the left was the tavern and inn, in which Imtiaz Cunningham served his famous home brew. The inn provided rooms for people to use as temporary homes while they were building houses in the town. To the right was the newly minted Town Hall. The lower level was a large meeting space with pew benches and a podium. Administrative offices were upstairs, though most were vacant as no one in town was quite sure what was required for the running of one. But it had seemed the thing to do, because work had the habit of miraculously manifesting itself when one least expected it, according to Ruthie. 

By the time Seth led them inside the Town Hall, a small congregation of town folk had formed around them. Bubblegum didn't appear to notice, although Finn knew better. She probably knew each one by name and had a collection of Petri dishes labeled for every person. 

He wrinkled his nose, looking around at the motley assortment of humans. Most of them were still roughing it so their clothes were worn and dirty, their owners appearing little better. Some of them didn't bathe and a lot of them had bad teeth. He couldn't really claim that most of them weren't gross but it wasn't their fault. Most of them had been slaves – or something like that – back in Tin Sea. They had more now than they ever had back there and that was to their credit. 

He spotted Lawrence Marino and grinned in welcome, waving. 

The boy sported a dull, steel practice sword slung over his back and had taken to wearing a hood with two floppy ears sewn onto it. It was meant to be a fox but it looked more like a rabbit, though Finn would never tell him that. While most of the humans eschewed animal headdresses, despite his advice, a few did wear them. The two kids, Lawrence and Samuel Mac'n'tire, were more than happy to play along. 

Janine grabbed her son by the shoulder, yanking him back to her side with a firm reprimand. As the boy came to an obedient, disappointed stop, she glared at Finn. The look was gone so fast he thought he might have imagined it, but he scowled back reflexively. She could be a real patoot sometimes. 

Putting his sour mood aside, he returned his attention to Seth and Bubblegum. 

"Right soon we're gonna have elections and vote for an official mayor, sheriff and treasurer," Seth was saying, chest puffed out with pride. 

"You act like you already got the job," Janine sneered, deliberately loud enough so most people could hear but acting as if she had said it under her breath. 

"Oh, don't start that here, Jan," Ruthie snapped back before Seth could defend himself. 

"I wasn't talking to you," Janine shot back, "or are you the man of your house now?" 

Muted, sporadic laughter erupted from those close enough to hear the jibe but many remained silent. Town authority had quickly become a point of contention among several of them as individuals put forth their various qualifications during a turbulent resettlement. They were all aware that they lived in a land where the values and laws they had always taken for granted no longer applied, yet many wished to create a semblance of familiarity. Others were less keen on continuing traditions that chaffed or suppressed. 

Finn had witnessed a wide array of responses to their discovery that their new land baron was a woman of enormous political and financial power. He watched them shuffle uneasily, the more reserved holding back those who wanted to step forward and begin shouting. Denying Ruthie's bid for authority on the grounds that she was a woman might be construed as defying Queen Bubblegum's. 

Bubblegum turned casually to face Janine after giving the crowd a moment to settle. She rested her right hand on the hilt of her sword. "Body-switching spells are the worse, aren't they? One moment you're a man, then you're a woman and back again." She sighed as if in commiseration, looking pained. Then she straightened in mock surprise. "Or, wait? Did you simply confuse Ruthie with Seth? Because my doctors might be able to correct the root cause of that problem," she finished dryly, giving the final words a sarcastic twist. 

Ruthie covered her mouth as more surprised laughter came from their audience. 

"I'll not listen to advice from a sinner an' queer sort like you!" Janine shouted back, pushing Lawrence behind her. 

Seeing several members of the crowd begin to move with her, Finn stepped forward to interrupt. "Aw, c'mon, Jan, cool it! 

"I'll not listen to her lap dog, either! That slut consorts with demons and there's no doubt in my heart that she's perverted you as well." She stood her ground, taking in the group's attention with a raised chin. "We've no business minding this evil bitch and her prissy little eunuch. Why are we licking her boots? The devil isn't here, now is she?" 

"Have you been drinking again?" Ruthie asked in clear exasperation while Seth gaped. 

Imtiaz grabbed Janine by a shoulder, trying to drag her away. "Make no mind of what she says, Your Majesty. This foolish woman is drunk and has no man to give her sense." He faltered, blanching a sickly yellow as he swallowed in consternation. "Not that a woman such as yerself be needin' a man's guidance." 

Finn was still grimacing over Janine's accusations, but Bubblegum seemed perplexed rather than angry. Her right hand hadn't left the hilt where it acted as a visual reminder, but at least the sword was snug in its belt loop. Her lips were pursed as she watched Imtiaz wrestle Janine toward the exit. 

"Finn?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I gather it's an insult, but what does slut mean?" 

"Uh," he stalled, looking at Ruthie. They had a silent argument over who would deliver the unpleasant answer, until she crossed her arms in refusal. "It's, like, a chick who likes to make out a lot, usually with a bunch of dudes." 

"I see," she replied slowly in a tone that indicated she didn't. "And that's an insult how exactly?" 

"Harlot!" Janine shouted in a last ditch effort as two men hauled her out of the building. 

Bubblegum looked at Finn in expectation. 

"Same thing," he explained, about as confused as she was, now that he got thinking about it. 

"Are there words for dudes who make out with a lot of chicks?" she continued, head cocking inquisitively. 

"Uh, no. I don't think so." At least, none that had the same connotations. She was right. Those were some cooky insults. 

Lawrence came running up, breaking through the crowd to come to a respectful stop in front of Bubblegum. "Ma'am, I wanna apologize for my ma. She took it hard when pa got killed and drinks more'n she should over it. I'm real sorry. Please don't do nothing to the town over her crazy words." 

She looked down at him, nonplussed. "I've no intentions of doing any harm to your town, Lawrence. Most of your mother's intended insults are nonsense words to me." She shrugged, dropping her hand from her sword. "Technically, I do consort with a demon and I'm sorry about your father, but there's nothing wrong with consensual relationships, no matter how many a person wants to have." 

A number of the audience gasped in outrage, followed by a murmur of multiple, heated discussions. Ruthie stepped quickly to Bubblegum's side, whispering in her ear as Lawrence backed away from them, his mouth a circle of astonishment. 

The mood of the crowd changed gradually in the shuffle as individuals stood closer together, fists being clenched, expressions surly. Discussions grew lower, comments terse and clipped before dying off into a mutinous quiet. 

Bubblegum jerked her chin in Finn's direction, motioning him to follow. Though her expression was neutral, he could see the furious disgust in her eyes. 

He hoped that whatever proverbial axe she had hanging over the humans unwitting, collective head remained in check. Making his way over to her quickly, he scanned the remaining crowd, doing his best to warn them silently not to provoke their liege any further. They were toast if they thought Marceline was the only sincere threat to their well-being. Several men glowered back at him in sullen challenge, some of whom had always treated him as a friend. 

Bubblegum began to stalk toward the blocked doors, Finn, Seth and Ruthie following warily. For a moment, it appeared as if the gathered men wouldn't get out of her way but as she stalked closer without hesitation, the crowd parted. Reaching the main doors, Bubblegum turned to face her audience once more. 

"Thank you for inviting me but I understand you have a ceremony to commence. I wouldn't want to hold up your lunch any longer." Inclining her head, she pivoted smoothly and walked through the doorway. 

The entire way down Main Street, Finn's back prickled under the hostile eyes of confused town folk. He kept his hands and shoulders loose rather than tensing up, combat experience keeping him alert and relaxed. His sword wouldn't be much good against a well-aimed bullet anyway. 

At the town's gate, Finn shook Seth's hand, accepting an apology, then bowed slightly to Ruthie. 

With a gleam in her eye, Bubblegum held out her hand to Seth. After a stifling moment, he shook it gingerly. She smiled at him, nodded at Ruthie and said, "I wish this had gone better but there's bound to be difficulties on both sides. Please rest assured that I will not treat Janine's words as representative of your people." 

"Aren't our people yet, ma'am," Seth quipped with evident relief, sharing a look with his wife. 

"Mm," she noted noncommittally without correcting his address. "Good luck with that." 

"Thank you, ma'am." 

After the gate closed, Finn looked at Bubblegum askance. "So, did that go good, bad or really bad?" 

"Good, believe it or not. There's always a bad egg but everyone kept her in check and no one piped up in agreement." She turned away from the gate, glancing up into the sky to locate Lady. "Unofficial leaders stepped forward to alleviate conflict and reaffirm their people's willingness to work within the parameters of the established government." 

"And no one shot us." 

"And no one shot us," she agreed dryly. "Also, I didn't need to summon the Destructobots, so I'm gonna call it a win." 

Finn grinned back at her cheerful expression and tried not to visualize giant robots stomping down the humans' town, setting fire to their houses and gunning down residents. If he hadn't seen the schematics and heard her admission, her light tone would have fooled him into assuming it was a joke. Yet another checkmark in the 'sneaky' category. 

Rather than call down Lady, Bubblegum started walking up the long slope toward Finn's tree house "Why? Did you think it was a disaster?" 

"A bunch of 'em peeps do agree with Jan," he pointed out. "And she slagged off pretty hard on Marce. The demon thing is a real sore point for a lot of them." 

"Oh, that," she dismissed with a withering tone. "It seems their belief system conflates the Nightosphere and its population with some sort of purgatory or afterlife. It's all a bunch of bunk if you ask me. Why not say angels are from Lumpy Space while you're at it?" 

Finn snorted, imagining LSP being mistaken for an angel. She was scary but she wasn't that scary. "Sure, but demons are actually called demons. Kinda makes it confusing." 

"Point," she allowed. 

He looked up to check that she had continued to head for the tree house and soon found himself staring in fascination. The tails of her coat slid back and forth over her butt with each step. Sucking in a breath between his teeth, he resolved to keep his eyes on the ground and follow her voice. "Doesn't it bother you?" 

"What?" 

"The way some of 'em trash-talk her, going on about how she's 'drawing you into sin' and, what's it...Oh yeah, 'will doom your kingdom to ruin and tears of damnation'," he quoted. "I think that's how Jan puts it." 

Bubblegum stopped to regard him, her eyebrows nearly reaching the rim of her crown, lips pursed in suppressed mirth. "I don't think I"ll ever get the sin thing. Seems completely arbitrary to me. I get right and wrong, heroes and villains, but some of their rules are bizarre!" 

"Sure, but if folks I wanted to be friends with slagged off on my girlfriend, I'd set them straight. I wouldn't let them keep being d-bags. Aren't you always telling me how dangerous ignorance is?" 

"My political arrangement with another sovereign nation is irrelevant," she answered, stooping as she walked to snatch a blade of tall grass. 

"You mean, your girlfriend," he teased in response to her formal description. 

"No," she corrected, peering sideways, rolling the grass blade between her fingers before flattening it out and squinting at its veins back-lit against the sun. 

"It's what you called her," he insisted, observing her version of nervous fidgeting. 

"I never called her my girlfriend," she denied, her tone becoming irritable. 

"Yeah you did, back at the castle after I finished your hair. You griped about being emo and called her your girlfriend," he summarized, emphasizing the final word with a barely suppressed smirk. 

"No, I...didn't," she repeated haltingly, feet slowing until she was rooted in place. 

Catching up, he put a hand on his hip, intending to admonish her over the attempt to deny her own words but turned to see her too shocked to be dissembling. 

She was staring at the ground in open distress, fingers at her temple kneading the skin there until it dented white. "I remember it now but..." she started, faltered. "It's like a dream. I was crying. I don't know why and then you...and I...Oh my glob. I didn't remember any of it." 

Her face was so panic-stricken that he wanted to draw his sword but there was no corporeal enemy to fight. His first assumption was that someone was messing with her head, but then he reconsidered. With Bubblegum it could be simple fatigue, sleep deprivation or even keeping track of too many things at the same time. She forgot stuff she didn't consider important all the time. Yet, she looked so scared and confused that his combat sense was tingling again. 

"Oh glib-globbit," she blurted out, covering her mouth with a belatedly polite hand. "I was waiting to suggest that at a better time." 

"Suggest what?" he asked while making a pretty good guess. 

"The thing," she answered vaguely. 

"Dude, you're as bad as Lemongrab. What thing?" 

"The baby thing, duh!" she huffed, taking off briskly toward the tree house in her agitation. "And now I've mucked it up. Great!" 

He watched her go with a smile plastered on his face. She was stomping her way forward, arms swinging jerkily, her sword bouncing off her leg with each stride. It wasn't funny if he let himself think about it, but he couldn't put it aside if something was fishy. If someone or something was messing with her mind, he needed to stay close. Too many people depended on her. While she was a master of ignoring unpleasant truths, he preferred to face challenges head on. 

She had meant to swipe his DNA and just do it. Harsh. He was used to how she did stuff and could see how she would view it as practical, but it left a cold pit in his guts. Like something was missing. The trouble with Bubblegum was that she was impatient. She wanted results immediately. He had seen her recognize a problem and blunder ahead with a hasty solution that made things worse on many occasions. Some problems just required a little bit of time to work out the kinks. It was like what Jake had told him once about double-edged swords. They did twice the damage per roll but half of it might be to you. 

He could see it now. She would wind up with a mostly human baby and it would cry, puke and poop. She would get mad at it and demand it grow up faster, or worse, try and age it up using some science trick and create a psychopathic adult with the mind of an abused child. Again. Not that he was going to say that to her face. She totally needed help and guidance with a project like that. Especially if Marceline was counting on her not to bunk it up. He was no expert on the subject, but at least he'd grown up with sibs and knew how to ask for help. 

He jogged to catch up to Bubblegum who was standing awkwardly at the front door of the tree house. 

She looked at him quickly and he noticed her cheeks were rosy from pique. "Sorry. I guess I should have explained what I was doing." 

"Um, you did. In detail." 

She hunched in consternation, grimacing. "I mean now. I told you things went okay with the humans but I wanted time to think about it. The moment I go back to the castle, peeps from every direction will want my attention. I won't have a moment to myself unless I lock myself in a lab and then I'll start working out of habit." 

"Sure, I get it," he said in genuine understanding. He liked to sit in quiet contemplation after a hectic day, though he didn't care for the meditation Bubblegum favored. Jamming with Marceline had been a great way to chill and ditch cruddy feelings too. A better way sometimes, but in the past now. 

He pushed the door open and held it for her. 

"After you," she demurred. 

He rejected the kitchen and the living area as a chilling spot because Jake might return from the Grocery Kingdom at any time. Upstairs it was and they could decide from there if they wanted to hang in the crow's nest and scope the neighborhood. If BMO wasn't up there with Lorraine or hir precious Air. Which was pretty weird, but whatever floated BMO's electronic boat. 

He wriggled into the chute that led up to his bedroom with some effort. As a boy, it had seemed cavernous but these days his shoulders scraped the old bark and that was with them curled inward to make room. Bubblegum followed much more easily and went straight to the window that looked out upon the humans' town. 

He sat on the bed, content to weigh his own thoughts while she sifted through her problems, probably the same ones that were tangling him up like a spider's web. 

He slumped on a long breath, feeling the way he sunk into the old mattress. The springs were uneven and most no longer rebounded. He also needed to sleep diagonally to fit. He kept meaning to find a larger mattress and reset the head and foot boards but never got around to it. Some more interesting quest or a leak in the roof usually came first. 

"Finn, you don't fit on the bed anymore." 

"Yeah. I need a bigger bed," he answered automatically. 

"Ah, that's not where I was going with that, but okay." 

His lips twitched as he pressed them tightly together, but then he gave up subterfuge and grinned cheekily. "I know." 

She narrowed her eyes in speculation, and he became acutely aware of how small the room felt with both of them crowded into it. "And where did you think I was going with it?" 

"Well, if you were a normal chick, which you aren't, I'd suspect you were gonna ask me to move in with you, but we're not dating so it couldn't possibly be that," he said, completely deadpan. "So, you were probably going to suggest I build myself a proper, boring, normal house down in the humans' town." 

Her eyebrows twitched in surprise and admission, respect flashing in her eyes. "That wouldn't be so bad, would it?" 

"I tried being normal once. I almost had a nervous breakdown. No, I don't want them to see me as normal, ignorable." 

Bubblegum leaned on the windowpane, arms stretched straight, hips canted as she bore her weight more on one leg, the toe of one boot propped loosely against the floor. "I can't argue with that sentiment – I live in a castle, after all – but I suspect your fellow humans perceive living in a tree house as childish rather than grandiose." 

"Um," he said absently, eyes fixated on a very fine ass outlined by tight, white fabric. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to actually turn his head. When he opened them, Bubblegum was looking right back at him and hadn't changed position. "Um," he said again. 

Her expression glib, she snorted. Not giggled, or chuckled or laughed daintily, she snorted. She reached up idly to rub at her ear, a compressed smile on her face, eyes glinting with amusement just shy of malicious. 

"You're still so young," she said, turning back to the window, leaning more heavily. 

He gave up and decided he was going to stare at her ass, check out her legs right down to the glossy magenta boots and go back up again. "You're totes doing this on purpose," he concluded, waving a finger in the air. "And if I was younger, I wouldn't know that. I'd think I was being pervy and you were being the sweet, innocent princess." 

Bubblegum rolled around, rather than turning properly, pushing off from the windowpane and stepping fussily over the worn, grungy bearskin rug on the wooden floor. The sword at her waist shuffed quietly with each step until she stood before him. "Well, it's worth a last-ditch effort, right?" 

"Except you don't need me," he countered sadly. 

He rose and impulsively reached out with a hand to catch a few strands of hair that frizzed at her temple. It was pink but no longer gummy, as he rubbed elastic strands between his fingers. He caught her eyes watching him intently, darker than her skin or hair, hovering somewhere between purple and pink. Sometimes, he could swear they were blood red and he felt a flush creep up his neck onto his face. 

"And you've got Marceline," he said, studying a healed burn on the back of his hand, "and I don't even have..." 

He jerked back his hand. 

"You miss them," she said flatly, her gaze still, intent as a basilisk, as if she had forgotten how to blink. 

He shifted his weight uneasily, puzzling over why. He was taller and broader than Bubblegum, easily out-massing her. Heck, his sword with bigger too, forged from demon blood, but he couldn't imagine raising it against her as he had done with Marceline. 

"They were both my buds. Mar-mar first, after Jake, and I could always count on her to keep me safe. I mean, she's supposed to be this badass demon and vampire, but I always trusted her and she's..." 

He exhaled on the memories of how gentle her hands had been, how careful she was with her jagged teeth. Then he recalled her flinging the bloodied remains of a human corpse to the cobblestones, maroon spraying in an arc and soaking her neck and chest. It wasn't the gore that made him stop talking to compose himself. He had rolled in blood, guts and entrails himself over the course of years, serving as Ooo's hero and the Candy Kingdom's champion. 

He was startled by the light touch on his jaw, fingers scraping over blond stubble and a faint scar on his cheek, stretched and faded by age. 

"She has her own sense of morality, Finn. You can't judge her by mortal standards." 

"Why not? She's half human, she told me. And I know she feels things the same way I do. I've seen her cry! She laughs about it but she feels everything the same way, so why should I give her some sort of free pass because she also happens to be a demon vampire? I might as well give anyone who isn't mortal a pass." 

Bubblegum's face was rigid by the time he finished, an odd, subtle shift from expressionless attention to disapproving anger. "That's true. It's isn't about mortality. It's about being responsible every waking moment of every day of your life for an entire population. It's about making allowances for impossible situations. Haven't you ever been in that position, even temporarily? Where you couldn't do what you wanted? Where you were forced by circumstance to do something reprehensible for a greater good?" 

He opened his mouth, then shut it with a click of teeth. Of course he had, on multiple occasions and it never sat well with him. 

"Imagine being forced to make that choice every day," she bit out. "Every. Day." She swept out an arm. "Do I hurt that group of people who desperately need my help and resources, in favor of another group, or vice versa? Do I forge a treaty with this neighboring principality, knowing they are rivals with another, so I cannot forge treaties with both? Do I expend resources on healthcare, knowing I cannot attend as much to a defensive infrastructure, or do I build an army because I know an enemy is coming and tolerate the upswing in disease and death?" 

He backpedaled, clasping a hand over the fist she had curled into the neck of his shirt. He was close enough to see a vein throb in her temple, the way her face had flushed as she lost her temper, and he had a morbid image of being hurled across the room. She definitely could have done it back in the day when she was made of gum, but he hoped that wasn't true any longer. 

He said, as evenly and reasonably as he could manage, "I don't think I could do that job and I can't really imagine doing it without, like, an embolism or something." 

"Well, I can't afford to have an embolism, though I could have one now, thanks to Marceline." 

He remembered seeing Bubblegum's burnt, melted body after the final Lich battle. As a teen, he had witnessed her near death via possession by the Lich King, but it had been so much worse this last time. There really hadn't been anything left aside from blackened tar, melted armor and a mangled crown and sword. 

He had found Marceline hovering over the remains, fiercely intent on something only she could see or understand. Her orders had been sluggish and stilted as she ordered Dr. Ice Cream to take the corpse to the nearest biological laboratory in the castle. She had it laid on a steel gurney, then ordered everyone out, slamming the door telekinetically behind them. 

Hours later, she emerged carrying a reconstituted Queen Bubblegum and laid her to rest in her bed. Marceline had taken a position in a chair and stayed there, frozen like gargoyle, waiting while Bubblegum slept. He had visited once, but there was nothing he could do to help and Marceline wouldn't answer any question he put to her. She kept staring and waiting, and when it got too creepy, he left. 

Her eyes clouded as she smoothed the collar of his shirt and took a step backward. "I'm not doing this right. Either that or the source material was incorrect." 

He twisted his lips to one side, then said, "If your source material was written by Jay. T. Doggzone, it's bunk. I'm pretty sure Jake wrote that book." 

She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. "I know and it's not where I'm getting my advice, though it does seem to be bunk. Do you mind if I try one more time, my way?" 

He considered he words carefully, weighing them against what he knew about the queen. As long as he had known her, she had put her kingdom and people ahead of her own needs. He had watched her sacrifice time, energy, sleep, happiness, and admit to putting aside companionship in favor of the kingdom. If it meant helping her people, she would put aside any moral qualm. He was sure of it. She had convinced the Fire King to imprison an innocent child in order to safeguard the land once. She probably thought he didn't know, that FP had never figured it out and told him. He ought to tell her to quit trying to win him over. 

He decided to humor her. It was kind of fun watching her flail. "All right. Shoot." 

Looking down, she steepled her fingers, tapping them together in a startling display of nerves. "How is your relationship with the Flame Queen?" 

He started to say that even though her matrix had stabilized somewhat with age and mental practice, she remained a fire elemental and he would never be one. He could tell her what it was like to cast the shielding spell and touch FP without feeling a thing. He might describe how he noticed when her subjects sometimes cowered around her, indicating that everything wasn't as peachy keen as she made out. 

He said, "Been on the rocks since Marce vamped me." 

She looked up with equally unexpected sympathy, maybe for the briefest second, but it was there. "She can be very tempting," she agreed neutrally. 

"Naw," he shook his head. "I could have said no and turned her away. She's my best ladybro and I shouldn't have ruined that by bein' horny." 

"Well, you know what they say about hindsight." 

"I don't know what that actually means," he admitted, oddly fascinated by that distracting realization. He knew that it meant recognizing a past error, but not the origin of the phrase. 

"It's a colloquialism referring to an archaic standard of visual acuity," Bubblegum answered promptly. "It means to have perfect or ideal eyesight." 

"Huh. Makes sense." 

"Yes, well," she said, wiping her hands on her thighs, "do you truly resent her for it? Do you...do you hate her for everything she's done since then?" 

Was he like the other humans? 

He wanted to say yes. He wanted a firm answer in alignment with everything he had ever believed about right or wrong. Instead, he looked into her eyes and saw the fine creases around the edges, the line that was forming between her brows from a chronically troubled frown. In the dust-speckled light from the window, he saw the freckles that had popped up with exposure to the sun, reminding him that part of her was human too. He had always prided himself on helping her, protecting her from enemies and raising his shield and sword in her honor. She did good things for so many people without personal reward and he knew the answer he wanted to give would be one more troublesome burden. 

The truth wasn't as tidy. The fact was, he had admired Bubblegum from the start and still did, despite knowing she was capable of pragmatic cruelty. He had befriended a vampire-demon, the self-admitted daughter of Ooo's most evil being. Marceline had never shied away from killing or destruction – delighting in terrorizing others. He had focused on the good in her spirit, the kindness that he heard in her music, but he hadn't missed the monster. Both women were far from the definition of purely good. 

Then he went and fell for the Flame Princess. Her dad was evil too and prided himself on it, claiming that everyone in the Fire Kingdom was evil. It was how things were done there: the selfish, manipulative, violent and cruel reigning supreme, just as in the Nightosphere. He pressed his daughter to be evil so she would be an ideal ruler, and Finn had pressured her to meet his standards of goodness. 

FP loved destroying things, whether objects to burn or enemies to slay. He had guided her to use those abilities in the vanquishing of monsters and villains, with the best of intentions. He had told himself that made her good rather than evil. Fire was crucial to survival, after all. It kept a person warm, cooked food and kept away predators, but out of control, it destroyed. Yet, if a person was never intrinsically good or evil, if only actions and choices counted, then it was likely he had murdered innocents over the years. 

He swallowed past the nausea in his gut, studying the floorboards. The humans would say he was tempted to sin by evil and immoral women rather than seeing all that was good and kind within them. Yet, if he judged by actions, Marceline had saved his life countless times, had saved Bubblegum and fixed a big problem, too. She had protected Ooo from a human, colonizing force and honored her father's wishes. If those choices mattered more than being the Lord of Evil, then he couldn't trust his gut to steer him right any more than the humans could trust their sacred rule book. 

When he looked up, Bubblegum was watching him patiently but with resignation clouding her eyes again. 

"Doing what's right used to be simple," he said sadly. 

"That's the trouble with being an adult," she said in a similar tone. 

"I don't hate her, but I miss my rad ladybro. She could always make me laugh at my problems, even better than Jake." 

"I want to claim that her habit of mocking what I considered most important drove me bananas but," Bubblegum said with a sigh, "she had a way of picking out the truth, no matter what, didn't she?" 

He watched her worry lines ease a bit as she tried to smile in relief and put on that proper pleasant face she wore for everyone. 

"I guess you like her more than you hate her too, huh?" 

"I never hated her. She drove me nuts but I never hated her." 

"She thought you did and it seemed pretty convincing to me too." 

"I know," she said dryly, more tension disappearing from her posture, shoulders and back relaxing. "She convinced you to let loose wolves in my room. That super-butt." 

He tried to squelch his snort of laughter but a garbled sound escaped behind his hastily raised hand. "Wait, you knew the whole time that wasn't my idea?" 

"Well, duh, Finn. Where else would you get a zany idea like that?" Bubblegum squinted an eye shut and waggled her chin, daring him to say anything more about it. "Glob, her and those stupid wolves. I knew they wouldn't eat gum, but you wake up that way and see if you're laughing." She turned away from him, rubbing the back of her neck. "Hmph. Wolves." 

He cocked his head, screwing up his brows as he saw a flush creep up her neck onto her face. 

"Wolves?" he asked, to see what would happen. 

Bubblegum squeaked, cleared her throat and said quickly, "We're not discussing wolves any further." 

"Why not? You brought it up," he teased, warming to the subject. 

"We are not discussing wolves," she repeated more firmly, her face positively red and eyes suspiciously bright. The smile she was fighting was practically turning inside out trying to break past her control. 

Finn bit his lips but it did no good. He had seen Marceline turn into a werewolf and full wolf plenty of times. She claimed to have lived with the pack to which she had introduced him and he believed it. It seemed like the wacky thing she would do for kicks or out of boredom. 

"A wolf?" he asked, unable to resist, trying to fight an answering grin. 

She bit her lip as tears of suppressed mirth collected in her eyes, until laughter finally broke through the dismal facade. She doubled over, covering her face and waving a hand frantically. "Peppermint," she gasped, "Peppermint gets all huffy and tut-tuts, plucking hairs one by one off the furniture trying to give me this arch, reproving look but it doesn't work because he's so short." 

"Oh my grog," he said, helplessly laughing along as she covered her face with both hands, apparently mortified by her confession. 

She sat weakly on the end of his bed, peeking up at him past her fingertips. Voice muffled, she said in horror, "I can't believe I told you that." 

He choked several times, trying to regain his composure, then gave up, sitting cross-legged on the floor and bending over to laugh it off. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but now I'm imagining you and her and-" 

"Stop imagining it, you perv!" 

"You brought it up!" he repeated defensively. 

"I know," she said miserably with a groan, "but that's just it. I can't talk to anyone about her, not really. Peppermint practically raised me, my subjects are confused by the whole concept and can you imagine what would happen if I told someone like LSP?" She shuddered. 

He felt himself blushing in some sympathetic embarrassment, blurting out, "What about Lady?" 

"Oh, what about Lady? She lives with a dog, Finn. She insists wolves are quite handsome and then she starts describing..." She flung out her arms and then clapped a hand to her forehead, eyes wide in remembered horror. 

Through great mastery of poise, he asked, "But wasn't her advice useful?" 

"Useful? Useful?! Finn," she almost shouted, "Marcy isn't a real wolf. It's pretend! And trust me, the details are different. If you want to know more you can...you can..." She waved a hand meaningfully at him, clearing her throat. 

"No, I'm good," he declined. "I don't think I'm into that." 

"Is it weird?" she asked anxiously. 

"I dunno," he said with an honest shrug. Having been raised by dogs, he honestly couldn't say. "Probs normal for a shape changer." 

"If what Lady says about Jake is any indication..." she muttered, then leaned over to rest her head on a raised hand. The other dangled, fingers playing with the hilt of her saber, tapping a blue gemstone set in the pommel. 

He smiled up at her in bemusement. Whatever the cause, the shared laughter had broken the awkward tension that had sprouted up between them. He wondered if she had planned the entire thing – he wouldn't put it past her. She was nearly as good at manipulating an audience as Marceline. 

She sighed, glancing over to meet his gaze. "Please don't tell anyone. There are enough unpleasant rumors about her without nosy tabloids misconstruing the facts." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Maybe the humans have a point." 

"What?" he said, startled by the seeming non sequitur. 

"Or is it her fault? Was she being pervy, like you figured?" 

"What are you talking about? Uh," he stammered, feeling out of his depth but determined to continue, "'cause if no one's getting hurt and you're both happy with it, then it's no biggie, right? At least, that's what Jake always says and I know sometimes his advice is spit but he wouldn't get me in trouble on purpose." 

Bubblegum started, looking at him in shock, face flushing again. "I know that," she said crossly. "It's not what I meant and, oh for Billy's sake, I shouldn't be talking about this with you. I'm so sorry. Please forgive my imposition." 

When she tried to stand, he reached out and grabbed hold of her knee, tipping her over. 

She caught herself against the bed in a half sprawl. "Finn, stop it." 

"No point in chickening out now, Queebles," he said equitably as possible. "May as well give me the whole sordid truth. I promised not to tell." 

"Is it normal to want someone so badly you can't pay attention to anything else?" 

"Yup." 

"What about two different people?" she asked, straightening out her position to sit properly, eyes fixed on the floor. "Because sometimes I want her so much I could hack my throne to bits and burn down the castle, throw it all away and other times..." she said tightly, swallowing. 

He opened his mouth, then shut it at memories of a gentle hand soothing burnt skin. Just like that, tension boiled back up between them like an imaginary opponent. It would keep raising its ugly head until one of them confronted the problem. He knew that, even if she didn't, but then, she was the one broaching the subject. It was so tempting to joke it off, push it away for another day, which would come sooner than he wanted anyway, what with the way the humans speculated amongst themselves. 

He stared at her, blinking when his eyes dried out and stung. "Queebles, I got a serious question." 

"Yes?" False cheer thinly coating dejection. 

"Do you like me?" 

"Pardon?" 

"Do you like me? Like-like me?" he clarified. "I'm not asking if you love me, 'cause that's real personal and it's not the time, but I gotta know if you like me." 

She turned her head, eying him stiffly with cold, wary suspicion. "Why?" 

"Look, I'm not asking for my ego or to tell jokes with Jake, all right? I really need to know. You gotta be straight with me about this. I wanna say it's in your best interest, but then you might lie," he added with false levity, desperately hoping she wouldn't. He would know if she did, lies and half-truths pouring out of her mouth as easily as the polished truth. 

Her eyes flitted over his expression, settling on some nuance before sliding to another. Her mouth was set in a flat line and she shifted her weight restlessly, fingers tapping the pommel of her sword. After a moment of this, her knee began to jitter and she scratched behind her ear. She glanced over her shoulder at the ladder they had climbed, then back at him. 

"And don't say you admire me or respect my courage or any of that junk. I know you do, but this is way more important," he coaxed. "We're in private, right? No one will know and I swear I won't throw another tantrum. I'm not a dumb kid anymore." 

"You weren't a dumb kid this morning, either," she muttered. 

"Yeah but that took me by surprise. I've gotten over it." 

She averted her entire body by twisting in place but that still left her in fair profile. "Yes, I like you," she admitted tersely. "I like you a lot." 

He smiled sadly. She had told him earlier that she had already blown her chance with him and he sort of agreed, but saying a person did or didn't deserve someone's affection over past mistakes was a mean way of thinking. The fact was, he loved FP but he loved Marceline too, albeit in a different way. Where one was true romance of heroic legend – a consuming fire – the other was his best friend who showed him how to be an adult. He wasn't about to tell Bubblegum that he loved her too. He would do anything for her, because she had always trusted him and had faith in him despite his myriad failures over the years. She was probably the most badass babe he knew, besides Marceline, but in a totally different way. 

Sometimes a person wasn't ready for something the first time round, another lesson he had learned from Marceline. She had told him one lonely evening, while some nightbirds sang and droplets plip-plopped from the stalactites of her cave, that it didn't do any good to get mad at a person for making you wait, especially when they had good reason. 

She was watching him stonily, the earlier calculation reappearing in her eyes as her temporary emotional honesty passed. "I'll go, and I apologize for any distress I've caused you. It was completely self-centered of me." 

With morbid fascination, he watched as the familiar royal bearing took hold of her face and body, posture and expression obediently stiffening into impassive, friendly ease. Until the woman standing before him, hand resting on the pommel of her sword, a gold crown on her head, was no longer someone who would laugh with him over Marceline's antics or confess to needing anything. 

He stood hastily, moving to block the ladder leading downstairs, the tickle of something slipping between his fingers making him speak. 

"You really suck at lying, QB," he bluffed. Her expression became nearly as panicked as it had been out on the grass and he rejoiced inwardly at the lucky score. "It's good that you like me back, because when I thought about you having a kid using one of the other humans, it made me mad. No," he corrected, trying to see past her mask, "I gotta be honest too. Only fair. It made me jelly. I wanted to pound whoever you were gonna pick." 

Her expression didn't waver as she studied him and it was his turn to fidget. "You still care?" 

"Yeah." Though he wouldn't let that affect his actions if she rejected an emotional relationship again. Everyone had their limitations. 

Slowly, she lowered her head. She had to know infatuation didn't last over a decade, couldn't stand the test of familiarity that developed over time. "I..." She paced in a tight circle. "Feelings are difficult for me. I know when I'm happy. I know when I'm not and when I'm angry. Everything in between is a muddle," she dissembled as if attempting to take back her confession. 

He swallowed. Marceline often referred to Bubblegum as a brainlord. As a boy he had thought it a petty insult. As he aged, he realized it was a simple truth. She could care about him and trample that emotion, but if he cared back the situation became terrifyingly unfamiliar and irrational. He knew a simple question that would provide her a point of logical reference, but he didn't want the answer. He didn't want to know if she liked him the same way she did Marceline, or far less. 

"No take-backs," he scolded, scooting over as she tried to pass him and escape. 

"There are good reasons why I don't date, Finn," she warned, coming to a stop and stepping back. "Liking you doesn't change who I am, how I am." 

It made him smile once more. He wondered if picking dames who warned him not to go down that road was an inborn compulsion, some kink in his alignment. It had to be. "Hey, I know you're a donkus. You're always gonna be a donkus, but there's something I want before you go." 

"Yes?" 

"It's something I've wanted for a long time and I guess this is my last chance to find out." 

She raised an expectant eyebrow, gaze impassive. 

"Okay," he said, taking a fortifying breath. "This would've been way less sticky a few minutes ago." 

She didn't move as he leaned in but to tip her head to one side when he pressed his fingers against her jaw. Her mouth was rigid for a second, before her lips relaxed under his, parting without reluctance. When he cupped the side of her head, he caught the surprising weight of her crown. It looked too delicate for it to be that heavy. The ridge of metal against his palm contrasted sharply with her lips, soft and pliant. When he deepened the kiss, she matched him without a sound except for a single shaky breath. He wanted to push forward, to pull her into his arms, but he drew back, licking his tingling lips and watching closely. 

She held her position for a fraction of a second, eyes closed. Then the queen snapped back into place and he might have been fooled if it weren't for the way her knuckles were white, fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of her sword. The blade quivered like a leaf from her struggle. 

"Please move," she said quietly. 

"I-" 

Lady shouted something, her voice faint through the window. 

Bubblegum pivoted away from him, going to the window and peering through it. She snarled something guttural and jogged past him to jump into the ladder chute and slide down it rather than taking individual steps. He heard her land and then he heard banging on the outside door. 

"What's going on?" he shouted, scrambling after her. 

"Demons have set your tree house on fire and they're armed." 

He caught sight of hulking forms through the nearest windows as the door vibrated, the wood cracking. Smoke drifted through gaps in the walls. He scowled at their cruddy timing. 

"Downstairs!" he ordered, drawing his sword and jumping straight down into the basement. "Stay behind me!" 

She didn't argue, repeating her maneuver with the ladder, falling into place behind him and drawing her saber. "Quickly," she urged, voice controlled. 

"On it, Your Majesty," he growled, barreling outside to meet his first opponent. 

He heard steel clashing behind him as Bubblegum joined him in battle, but he had been right. Most of the lot were crowded around the main entrance in front, not that the three they fought were lightweights. Whatever kind of demon they were – green with faces stuck in permanent curling sneers – their skin was tough where it wasn't covered by leather jerkins. They growled orders or insults in a strange language and the one he fought kept trying to break past him to reach the queen. So, she was their target. 

He turned off his thinking, allowing his body to move, guiding them away from the tree house and the other demons. His arm moved efficiently, blocking and thrusting, as his feet carried him around and in between opponents. His sword did little damage despite its nature. Where it struck, it felt like he hit tree trunks or soft stone and he began to reevaluate his strategy. They needed to go on the defensive and retreat to a safer location. 

The humans' town. They needed the guns. 

A hoarse cry of pain drew his attention to Bubblegum, clutching her left shoulder. As he watched, she dropped to her knees, bent over and reeling from her injury. Red began to soak her sleeve as she glanced up to check on her opponent and face whatever blow he intended to strike. 

Pivoting, Finn charged toward her, thankful that the demon had paused to gloat, and blocked the executioner's strike. As he covered her retreat, she traded hands, wielding her sword with the good arm, the wounded dangling loosely as her jacket and sleeve darkened rapidly. He allowed a flicker of admiration to disrupt his focus as she stubbornly maintained her guard with the less practiced arm. 

But the other demons were converging on them, drawn by the sounds of battle. If he and she didn't begin to run, they would miss the window of opportunity. 

He heard the crackling behind them, the steadily increasing wall of heat, and glanced over his shoulder while parrying. His tree house was burning, flames climbing the green, living trunk to consume dry tinder walls. He could see two demons on either side of the tree, arms spread as they concentrated on their task even though their targets had fled the abode. 

"Finn!" 

He jerked back around in time to see Bubblegum's sword block a swing aimed for his neck, throwing her off balance and back onto one knee. His sword arm moved automatically on muscle memory, interposing his blade between a successive slash, giving her time to regain a defensive posture. Anxiety crept into his mind as he noted how sluggish her movements were, the way blood was trickling down her hand to leave a messy print on the trampled grass. 

"We need to get away from the tree house!" she shouted at him, words slurred and ducking low after throwing a nervous look at the growing inferno. "Now!" 

While he agreed, because they needed to reach the town, the fire wouldn't spread to the grass. With the summer rains they had been having, those demons were probably having a time of it keeping the blaze going with whatever evil magic they were using. If he could just reach them, he would use their miserable bodies to smother the flames. But they definitely needed to reach the humans if Bubblegum's injury was more severe than she was letting on, no matter what her opinion of the town surgeon. 

Bubblegum grabbed the side of his tunic, pulling urgently while clumsily warding off attackers. 

He followed, largely to compensate for her wild, unfocused slashes as she kept looking over at the tree house instead of her opponents. Under these circumstances, the shield he normally despised would have been useful. Instead, he was forced to keep pivoting, turning, blocking, parrying and shuffling backwards after Bubblegum. What was her problem? Did she have some sort of fire phobia? Had that been her issue with FP all along? 

The unexpected blast from the tree house bowled him over. 

He rolled to a stop, gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of his lungs, sword caught in a death grip. He had learned long ago not to drop it at any cost in the midst of battle. His arm would be amputated before he dropped his sword. Sitting up before the spots in his vision cleared, he searched for Bubblegum and found her rolled into a fetal position, arms over her head, apparently having been prepared for the explosion. 

She staggered up and stumbled toward him, grabbing his upraised hand. 

"Go, go! Up that hill! We need the high ground!" 

"No! To the town!" he bellowed. "B! You're bleeding all over the place!" 

Stumbling on his hands and knees, he threw himself after her, mind whirring and tripping over what had just happened. His tree house had exploded and she had known it would happen. She had known when to duck and cover. She had known the blast would be powerful enough to knock down their opponents and give them time to gain ground. 

He overtook her easily, yelling, "Did you plant a bomb in my house?" 

"Oh, that was ages ago," she shouted back, then pivoted to a stop and giggled, eyes wild with pain. 

"Oh my glob, what is-" He was just in time to catch her under the arms, feeling her saber bounce off his foot as it slipped from her grasp. 

Then the first demon was back upon them and he shifted his attention back to their defense, fear curdling his gut as he blocked increasing blows. He couldn't stop so many attackers when hampered by her dead weight. If they survived this, they were going to have a serious conversation about personal boundaries.


	5. Chapter 5

Marceline hadn't yet reached the doors to her personal quarters when she was jerked off her feet and thrust through a portal. She instinctively summoned her axe, still cruddy from battle, as was she, and faded herself from view to gain some tactical advantage. She popped out under a bright blue sky, amidst sounds of battle, guttural shouts and clashing metal. Smoke obscured the battlefield but a strong breeze blew gaps through the gray.

Below her, demons swarmed around Finn and Jake's tree house which smoldered in partial ruin. Another gap in the melee revealed Finn, his sword flashing rapidly as he struggled to keep the monsters at bay. His other arm was wrapped around Bonnibel, who slumped against his chest. Half her white jacket was red, far too dark and irregular to be a product of design. She caught sight of Lady flying through her peripheral vision, swooping down to impale a demon on her horn before phasing through it, but she remained at the edges of the fight in case she was needed as a means of escape.

Everything acquired an orange tint as her eyes flamed with fear and rage. She discarded the labrys back into the Night, plummeting herself down to land on a demon and using him as a meaty cushion that gave way under her booted heels. She didn't waste time, heart clawing at her throat and the amulet burning hot as she opened her gorge wide.

The demons dropped en masse as she consumed their souls, they then caught fire in a blaze of blue-white heat that had Finn covering his face and cringing down to shield Bonnibel. The acrid stench of burnt flesh and hair filled the air and they coughed, dropping to hands and knees to escape the smoke.

Marceline grabbed each by the collar and airlifted them several hundred feet away, depositing both on unmarred grass. Immediately Finn grabbed hold of Bonnibel under her arms and began speaking urgently between gulps for air.

“She's bleeding, Marce. Real bad! I can't make it stop!”

She discovered that Finn had torn off part of his shirt to wrap it around Bonnibel's shoulder, but the blue cloth had already stained black from the seep of blood and gleamed wetly under the bright sun. The skin of Bonnibel's face was washed out pink, tinged green around the edges, her lips pale as her head hung limply.

For a moment, Marceline couldn't move.

Then she yanked the saturated bandage off. Ignoring the upwelling of fresh blood and its rich, iron scent, she used both hands to push together the mangled flesh and bone, tuning out the whimper as Bonnibel revived slightly from the increased pain. She focused on healing the injury. She tried to make it as fast as possible, but it was more complicated than a simple cut or bruise, and if she was too quick, the heat would be intense. She pressed her forehead against Finn's shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut.

He didn't need to see what else was happening.

Marceline breathed through her mouth to diminish the gnawing hunger intensified by the intoxicating smell of fresh blood. She clenched her teeth, air whistling and gurgling through saliva. It was right there, just inches away. All she needed to do was lower her head a bit. Closing her eyes had made it worse, so she squinted at Finn's chest, the dirty blue tunic stained and smeared with two different colors of blood. Her head started to pound but she kept the amulet's energy focused on healing.

When Bonnibel gave a smothered cry of pain, kicking weakly in an instinctive attempt to escape, Finn held her more tightly. Marceline could feel Finn's gaze boring into her, but she kept her eyes averted. They weren't going to have that conversation, confrontation or whatever, right now. It could wait for whenever Bonnie summoned her back, if she ever did.

Marceline continued ignoring his effort to make eye contact and stepped away to examine Bonnibel for other injuries. Catching sight of a few nicks, she fixed those too but from a safe distance. Her stomach cramped and she reminded herself that a meal would be waiting for her at home. Damn Simon for being right.

Bonnibel hung in place gasping for a minute before stubbornly planting her feet on the ground to stand on shaking legs. Her face was still blanched, her lips a tight line of pain as she recovered from the healing as much as from the original injuries. She held her hands together, fingers locked and focused on some imaginary point, breathing in a slow, deep rhythm.

Marceline took a heavy breath of her own and looked past Bonnibel, to Finn.

He was wearing the guiltiest expression she had ever witnessed on him. He wouldn't quite meet her eyes, hesitating before awkwardly sheathing his sword over his shoulder. There was regret in his every motion, tension as he stepped back to give Bonnibel room, his arm sliding away from her body with seeming reluctance. 

Marceline knew she needed to take control of the situation before he made a mess of it, but she mostly wanted to leave. Aside from Lady, who hadn't landed, there was no one else present which meant that Bonnie had simply been with Finn in or near his tree house. She started floating backward as Bonnibel continued to meditate, gaining distance before she was forced to interact.

Bonnibel wouldn't notice what was going on, or wouldn't really understand even if she did realize things had gotten awkward. As long as Finn didn't do something dumb like start apologizing or making excuses, Marceline could pretend she hadn't figured it out. It wasn't as if she hadn't planned and intended for the two of them to pair up, after all. It wasn't some horrible surprise. It wasn't a new experience at all for her.

With her lifestyle, she had often wandered in and out of mortals' lives. She would visit for a while, play, flirt and seduce or be seduced. Sex was fun and as long as everyone was cool with it, a harmless way to enjoy the sensations of being alive for a few minutes. Her heart usually stopped in battle, a defensive instinct, as it did during sleep for the same reason. With love, it always raced, forcing her lungs to fill with air and bring with it the heady buzz of life. So she came, and she went and if she returned a past lover might have taken another, married or died. It rarely affected her.

But she needed a moment to quash that horrible twist in her gut that felt like her own axe was jammed in her chest. Bonnibel would have been impressed by her ability to keep a straight face if she had known about it, Marceline told herself. At least she was topside for a few minutes and both of them were safe. That was what mattered. Life went on and maybe Finn and Bonnibel would marry before dying, a small blip of time compared to ruling the Nightosphere.

She needed a moment to calm down, that was all. She had spent her morning being heckled, the rest of it waging war and serving more as an executioner than a general, before having been thrust into this situation. Which wasn't a surprise, she reminded herself again, courtesy of the Flame Queen. She allowed her feet to settle on the grass as the flat, dull exhaustion from earlier blanketed her. She knew the ugly pang of jealousy and it was absent. It was odd. She had prepared for that ugly spasm of hatred but she felt only the tiniest flicker before it was quashed by an even more familiar awareness: She was unwelcome, an unwanted encumbrance.

She watched the tree house burn. The ancient living tree was a jagged set of sheared trunks, splintered limbs and debris. A few green leaves had fluttered free but most of it was crackling bright and throwing dark gray smoke into the clear blue sky. Bits of the house and smaller branches had been thrown in a somewhat even diameter, suggesting an explosion rather than a fire. She doused the fire with a thought, memories of a past life drifting with the smoke rising from a past home. Perhaps the roots and base of the trunk had survived and new shoots would pop up next spring.

She regarded the blackened corpses of the demons for a few seconds. She had caught a good look at their clothing and armor before frying them. The souls lodged in her gorge confirmed her suspicions. The culprit was probably one of Erlik's wives or a child her army had missed. It was unfortunate, but not unexpected. It was the speed of the attempted retaliation that puzzled her. Who would be so foolish as to act so hastily with little planning or subterfuge? They hadn't even thought to block her automatic summoning as Erlik had known to do. Though that required far more power than he had ever had at his disposal.

Surveying the surrounding countryside, she noted the development of a new fort of some type in the near distance. Some people were spilling out the front entrance, a small group who appeared armed with short sticks. She shifted her eyes and zoomed in until she could see that they were Finn's new human friends armed with rifles, handguns and short-swords. They were running and it wouldn't take them long to reach the top of the hill and Finn's now-former home.

Her ears twitched in response to a tinny cry for help and she turned her head this way and that, triangulating its origin. It definitely wasn't coming from the oncoming humans or Finn and Bonnibel who were speaking quietly to each other. Then she smiled in tired recognition and looked down.

BMO was waving hir arms and stumbling toward her, tripping over clods of dirt, rocks and twigs. The poor gaming unit was muddy, with a cracked face-plate, but ze printed a delighted emoticon while running.

Marceline scooped BMO off the ground, holding hir at eye-level. "Hey, baby.”

"The house blew up! My face is broken! You are dirty!"

Marceline felt herself laugh, a creaky startling sound that turned into a cough which she covered with a fist. No telling what was down her gorge and she didn't want it landing on BMO.

"Oh no! Are you sick?"

"Nah," Marceline reassured with another rusty chuckle. "I think my lunch is disagreeing with me."

"You should be careful what you eat," BMO admonished.

"You're right," Marceline agreed dutifully, tucking the gaming unit under her arm. “C'mon, I'll take you to Finn.”

She doubted BMO would ever have a conscious awareness of how old ze truly was outside of some recorded time unit. The gaming unit had possessed the mentality of a friendly child ever since Marceline had discovered hir centuries ago. They had spent years together playing video games when dealing with the changes in the outside world became unbearable. 

Taking a second to make certain her body wasn't shifting to express some involuntary emotion, that her eyes were human rather than demonic or glowing, she landed and walked back toward the others.

Bonnibel was hunched over, expression grim as she surveyed the impromptu battlefield. When she saw Marceline had returned, she asked without a trace of Finn's guilt, "Those were demons, weren't they?"

"Jinn."

"How did they get here?"

"Well, someone obviously shared the portal spell. I'm guessing that you didn't, and Jake probably didn't either."

Bonnibel's eyes widened as she caught the implication and she spun around. "You told the humans? Finn! What were you thinking?"

"But it can't summon any ol' demon and I only told Seth because he already belongs to Marcy!" he said in a jumbled defense, looking back and forth between them in growing outrage. "I thought he might need to...I dunno. It made sense at the time!"

"All sorts of things make sense when you're desperate for friends," Marceline muttered, keeping a visual lock on him. The last time they had met, he had threatened her and tensions were high.

Finn glowered at her, expression going sullen. "You took his soul. He deserved to know."

"And because you decided he deserved to know how to interfere in my business," Marceline snapped, jabbing a finger at her own chest, "another demon was able to send a hit squad after Bonnie. Congratulations, you morally superior butthead."

“I was doing what my heart said was right, which is more'n I can say for you!”

"Both of you stop! What's done is done," Bonnibel said firmly, stepping between them, hands against their chests. "And Finn's right. That spell specifically summons the Lord of Evil, so explain."

"Yeah, the specific spell, if you get every detail right. Screw up the words, use something besides bug milk, draw the face wrong and you get someone or something else. Probably someone who's been waiting for some dumb mortal to make exactly that lumpin' mistake."

“Ow!” BMO protested her increasingly forceful grip.

She blew air out through her clenched teeth and shoved the gaming unit toward Finn. “Here. Have Bonnie patch hir up.”

As he took the proffered unit, placing hir carefully on his shoulder where ze sat down happily, Marceline skimmed her eyes quickly over Bonnibel. Aside from being a bloody mess, she looked a lot better. Her skin had regained its proper rosy color and her stance was steady, as was the hand against Marceline's chest. It was the first time Bonnibel had touched her in over half a year and it was to push her away.

The iron-rich scent of fresh blood wafted up and hit her like a sledge-hammer.

Marceline turned away, raking a hand through her hair and swallowing. Her fingers caught on several matted knots that parted stickily when she pushed through them. With her gut still churning, the conversation with Flame Queen came back to mind. She wasn't going to act like some jelly shrew, not when a relationship would make Bonnibel and Finn both happy. She was the one with experience here. She could act like it.

Bracing her hands on her thighs, she leaned over, feeling as if she might retch. While this ambush had served more as a demonstration that her consort was vulnerable to attack, Bonnibel could die in the future under similar circumstance once her obligation was fulfilled. If an enemy struck fast enough, it could happen just as it had happened to Marceline's mother. Even Finn could have died despite his vaunted battle prowess because demons weren't Ooo's average monster.

He had no idea. He thought because he went on a cute little trip to see her dad and hung out with the demoralized souls seeking penance that he had the Nightosphere figured out. He had seen a tiny portion of the underworld, probably the most organized and bureaucratic part next to Duat. He hadn't been to Irkalla, Mictlan, Xibalba or Tartarus. He hadn't run into the gallu or jinn, let alone the World Snake. She ought to destroy him for his peachy ignorance.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay, Marcy. We're okay," said Bonnibel. "You got here and did your thing. Now go find whatever patoot sent those goons and...take care of it. Finn will protect me if I can't do it myself."

Marceline's stomach clenched at those words, but she stood and wiped the emotion off her face before turning to say, "I know he will. He always does." Except he had failed this time.

Bonnibel stood erect, posture confident as always, betraying nothing. Her gaze passed over Marceline, quick and assessing. Whatever she saw caused her to frown faintly, a break in her usually calm veneer. Then her eyes snapped off to the side. The humans had arrived. Yet, rather than address their belated rescue party, Bonnibel turned back to face her, a tiny little smirk on her lips, while pulling something out from under the flap of her jacket.

"Marceline, I-" Finn started to say.

"I better go find the bastard. Peace," she said, cutting him off while blindly accepting whatever Bonnibel was handing her.

She was back in her citadel before Finn could confess anything she didn't want to hear. Alone in the central hall, she looked down at the wet ball of fabric in her hand. It was the blood-soaked bandage and she stared at it nonplussed before choking out a laugh that echoed like a sob.

What the heck had Bonnie been thinking? She had to have picked it up off the ground for a reason. Was it a morbidly sentimental gift or was it meant as a snack? With her, it could be either or both. Efficiency suggested the latter. She should throw it away, vanish it from existence rather than let it dry-rot in the heat of the Night. More likely, it would disappear, cleaned up by some clueless servant.

She hunched her shoulders, looking down at the saturated ball of cloth. Bonnie must have noticed her slavering like a dog, as if she were food instead of a lover. She told herself to throw it away but her hand was a traitor, lifting it up so she could sniff at the unholy combination of iron and sugar. Her mouth watered and she felt the telltale dribble of venom from her fangs. Her fingers spasmed as her mind recalled a time when she held a lover close, teeth buried deep as her body bucked and heaved in lust.

She should have known Clint didn't care when he didn't respond the same way to her blood as she did to his, but he hadn't been the last to permit her that indulgence. There had been Keila, the two of them tangled together, lost to the world until feelings changed. They had drifted apart, aged and moved on until...Well. Stuff happened that she preferred to forget. 

She smiled at a later memory of a mortal hero, ancient grief worn and dull to a smooth finish. Her hand was shaking as her mind returned to the image of Bonnie, shaken but determined, Finn out of focus behind her. That tiny bit of blood was probably going to be as much as she would get, so why not?

Before she could overthink it, she bit into the gift.

Her head swam in a rush hard enough that it doubled her over, arms crossed over her middle as the dried fabric fluttered from her grip. She fell to her knees, stunned, arm reaching out for some way to pull herself back up lest a servant see her like this. Stumbling up, she gulped for air, her heart beating harder and faster than it had any right to. She needed to get to her room where she could wait this out. So stupid. She should have planned for this possibility.

The door to her room seemed a thousand miles away and she needed out of her constricting clothes. Looking around frantically, she heard a whine, knew it was hers, didn't care. She clawed at the amulet, desperate for some source of focus through the haze of lust. This shouldn't be happening. Yaffe had leeched it all in the morning. _Yaffe._

"Yaffe!" she bellowed, part of her wanting to laugh herself sick. Yaffe could fix it but ze wasn't here. "Yaffe!"

Simon barreled into the central hall, eyes wide and luminous when he saw her spitting and growling like a feral animal. His wings unfurled in reflexive defense but he rallied his nerves. "Summon hir! You can summon hir!"

So stupid. Her fingers slid around the gemstone, palms sweaty as she willed the succubus into the citadel from wherever ze currently was.

Yaffe appeared in a flash of purple with a startled yelp as ze landed on the stone floor, but ze homed in with skilled alacrity on Marceline. Hir appearance shifted automatically, standing hir ground as Marceline closed in without further warning. 

She hoped Simon was gone and she hoped even more that Yaffe had picked up on what ze needed to do to avoid becoming a casualty of Marceline's immediate appetites. Ze didn't have the right color blood, after all, but ze was red. Yaffe might be able to handle the roughest sex but the imminent bite would kill hir.

Yaffe caught Marceline by the sides of the head, grunting from the impact of the wall against hir back, but ze didn't resist. Hir strength inadequate to avoid the bite, ze focused hir efforts elsewhere as Marceline clamped her teeth around hir shoulder.

The sudden absence of the blood lust left Marceline sagging in place, knees collapsing, but someone held her up. She pressed her forehead against the stone wall, gasping, the acrid taste of demon blood in her mouth. Feeling it would be a mite rude to spit on Yaffe under the circumstances, she forced herself to swallow it with a grimace.

Yaffe was shaking.

Marceline pushed off hir, legs still weak but too disconcerted to float. "I'm sorry."

"There is no need to apologize, My Lord."

"Maybe not from your perspective," she mumbled.

"I am the one who needs to beg forgiveness," Yaffe insisted. "I failed to serve you adequately."

Bracing herself on an outstretched arm, Marceline inspected the damage. Yaffe was trembling and hir left shoulder and neck were gray. Brackish blood oozed from two deep punctures and she listened to Yaffe's shaky, hitched respiration. She laid her fingertips across the wound, twin holes sealing as the skin brightened back into red. Muscles tense with pain relaxed, although Yaffe continued to shake.

"Are you okay?" Simon injected politely.

"Aw, crap. You're still here," Marceline moaned, turning her back on him in mortification.

"It all happened very quickly," he explained delicately. "I would have left but..." He cleared his throat and questioned in concern, "If I might ask, what was that? Some aspect of the amulet?"

Trying to run a hand through her hair, catching on knots and freeing her hand in disgust, Marceline sighed. "No. A vampire thing. Blood lust."

"Because you haven't eaten?" His tone changed to one of exasperated disgust.

"Nothing to do with it," she snapped, unwilling to elaborate. "I had a case of the feels and did something dumb. That's all. It's no one's fault but mine. Just, go. Both of you, leave me alone."

She waited until she heard them both walk way, then sank back against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees. From there, she peered over her knees at the offending piece of innocuous, pale blue cloth. She imagined Bonnie in Yaffe's place and shuddered. No amount of begging, pleading or screaming would have stopped her. At least in the dream walk there were no physical consequences, so it was just as well that Bonnie no longer summoned her.

* * *

Bonnibel drew on her mental reserves and kept her posture erect and commanding while she stared blankly at the spot where the portal to the Nightosphere had swirled shut. Truthfully, her head was swimming from the remnants of jagged pain and her body was racked by violent, adrenaline-fueled tremors. Half her jacket was soaked to the skin with blood and the sleeve hung off her shoulder, an annoyance that caught and pulled at her arm. Her left leg was wet from the saber Finn had retrieved and slung in her sword belt without wiping clean. She was a mess, but maybe that was what the humans needed to see.

Looking at empty air wouldn't bring back Marceline.

Turning, she gave up on a smile and held back the scowl that wanted to emerge: all teeth and lips curled in disdain. Not yet though, not until the humans resisted or obfuscated. It was possible they had come to help rather than spectate or finish the job. They had their long guns, muskets and rifles, along with small arms, swords and even a pitchfork, but there weren't many of them. 

Finn came to her side as she faced the humans. He was sweaty, the skin of his face and arms ruddy from exertion, and blood oozed and crusted on his arm and along the slash in his tunic. He didn't appear to be in significant pain, accustomed as he was to minor combat injuries, so treating them could wait.

“I sent BMO off with Lady in case we need to get out of here. Should I call her back?”

“No. If one of your human friends has been summoning demons, I want to know right now.”

“I was trying to do what was right,” he said crossly, pointed insinuation lacing his defense.

“You can't always do what your heart wants,” she countered stiffly without looking at him. “It can be selfish and self-centered.”

She rolled her shoulders experimentally, testing the healed flesh and bone. If Marceline had stayed, Bonnibel would have asked her to heal Finn too. Perhaps the humans would do something foolish and harmful enough to draw her back to this dimension. She grimaced, imagining the potential trade-off. Neither she nor Finn would stand a chance against concentrated gunfire.

"Ma'am, you alright?" Seth held his rifle looped under his elbow, pressed against his side, muzzle pointed at the ground. "We saw the ruckus and mustered a posse, but it looks like we reached the party late."

Bonnibel pressed her lips more firmly together. There were only eight men with Seth. "We certainly could have used your assistance. Fortunately, Marceline arrived in time."

She could have specified, but she let them speculate. Let them see the state of her clothing, the evidence of severe injury contrasted with her current health and self-possession. Let them absorb her resilience and realize they had a ruler who was far more than pretty pink dresses and weekly parties.

"Were those some sort of monsters? We didn't get a good look but I don't recall seeing those type of folk in this neck of the woods."

"They were demons," Finn stated before she could answer. "Someone opened a portal to the Nightosphere and let them into this dimension, someone who knows how."

"And that's a pretty short list," Bonnibel added, suppressing her astonishment at Finn's reversal, her own gaze falling on Seth where Finn's already glowered.

Seth sucked his breath in slowly, chewing on his lower lip before looking down in consideration. It wasn't a gesture of guilt so much as acknowledgment that if the true villain wasn't found, Seth was the obvious leak. The men behind him stirred, sensing warranted hesitation from their temporarily appointed leader.

Seth had been Captain Ortiz's first officer. As such, he had followed his commander's orders in an attempted coup of the Candy Castle when the humans first arrived in their sailing ships. The attack had failed disastrously, resulting in many deaths at Marceline's claws before Bonnibel took control of the situation. Finn had been furious and she wasn't sure if he had forgiven his friend – their friend – yet. It wasn't his nature to hold a grudge, but she wouldn't assume.

Since then, many of the humans had fallen in behind their former senior officer, but others regarded him as a traitor to their cause for surrendering his soul to Marceline. Some, including his wife, had never supported his actions to begin with, but she held fast to him. He seemed more tolerant and adaptable than some of his followers and that made him an excellent delegate for the humans.

Bonnibel put her hand on Finn's wrist, restraining his apparent desire to take on so much responsibility that he condemned his friend through good intentions. As he nearly had done with her. While a part of her wanted to level the entire town, right now she wanted justice within the parameters of the law. She wanted to know who bore such malice that he or she wanted her dead, regardless of the political consequences for most of Ooo if her kingdom collapsed. At least one of the humans was stupid enough to believe they could do a better job, and she doubted it was Seth.

"We have reason to believe," she began, pitching her voice as much as possible to convey strength and authority, "that one of your people opened that portal. To borrow a phrase, one of yours has been consorting with demons. I cannot emphasize enough how serious an offense that is. It is an act of treason against me and a violation of the Nightosphere's primary edict that no resident may leave its boundaries."

"Ma'am, uh, Your Majesty, I hear what you're saying. I realize you got no good reason to believe me, but I swear I have not been callin' up no demons. I may not agree with all the ways things are done around here, but I won't be part of treason again. Ain't worth it."

"On the contrary, Mister Mac'n'tire, I have good reason to believe you were not directly involved. You cannot take action against Marceline, which makes it highly unlikely you can cause me harm, even indirectly."

She took a moment to check her composure. Justifiable rage was bubbling up and she felt like a beaker that was strained by rising gas pressure. Her hands were clasped behind her back to disguise the persistent shudders caused by lingering shock. Flesh had so many weaknesses and she was potentially facing one of those impossible decisions she had described to Finn. If the culprit wasn't revealed, she would be forced to penalize the entire human settlement rather than risk an enemy who had access to such deadly resources. She knew he would offer to go in there and find the miscreant, but whoever it was might summon more powerful demons or simply greater numbers. He would die.

As she understood it, constant, absolute control of the Nightosphere and its residents was impossible due to its sheer size. It was an empire the size of the world, multiple continents with oceans of fire and lava in between. There were nations with their own kings and queens, presidents and premiers, all bowing down to the Lord of Evil. The bureaucratic scale was mind-boggling, although it did help to explain the power granted to its ultimate ruler. Nevertheless, Marceline could not be everywhere at once.

Closing her eyes and tuning out the wind, the soft crackle and pop of dying embers behind them, the quiet talking of the humans, she listened. Far in the distance, she could hear the reverberations of massive, mechanical footsteps, quick and tireless. The cavalry was en route. This attack had been the very excuse Bonnibel needed to take action against the humans, but there were good people in that town. Finn would be devastated, no matter how well he understood the circumstances.

"Boss?" one of the men spoke up. "What she mean she got reason to believe one of us called up 'em demons?"

The small group was widening into an arc around Seth.

"It don’t got nothing to do with you and the devil lady, do it?" another one added.

"We don't think Seth is responsible for anything," Finn interposed before suspicions ran wild. "If anyone's ultimately responsible for this mess, it's me. I told Seth something I shouldn't have. I meant well, but all it would have taken is someone snooping around at the wrong time to do a lot of damage."

The men regarded him for a moment and the first one who had spoken concluded, "You sayin' you know how to open one of 'em portals and you done told Seth how to."

Seth held up his head in the face of his followers' concern and suspicion. "Yeah," he admitted reluctantly. "Finn figured I ought to be able to call the one that took my soul instead of waiting on her pleasure like some slave, but that's all. What they're saying, if any y'all haven't been listening, is that someone eavesdropped and ran wild with the spell. That right?"

"We feel it's a strong possibility," Bonnibel confirmed. "You should also know that while any changes or mistakes in casting the spell usually result in failure, they can also result in summoning a different demon."

"Some creep looking for a way in," Seth guessed.

"Precisely. With any luck, the culprit will have the good sense to step forward rather than...shift the blame. No matter what they thought they were getting out of the deal..."

The booming thuds of approaching mechanoids punctuated her last words, causing everyone except her to look in the direction of those sounds. She knew that nothing would be visible yet.

"Queebles?" Finn muttered through gritted teeth.

"Destructobots," she muttered back, keeping her expression pleasant.

Two massive mechanoids materialized as they dropped their holographic shields. The bipedal behemoths towered over the wood and stone walls of the humans' town, front-mounted cannons pointing over the barricades into the settlement.

"Surrender or die!" boomed a synthesized voice.

The intimidating effect was ruined when the second mechanoid asked, "Are you sure that's right. Does the memo say 'die'?"

"As, c'mon, dude. I always wanted to say that without someone laughing in my face. Haven't you?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"See how they're all running around screaming? Pretty sweet, huh?"

Bonnibel pinched the bridge of her nose as gunshots went off, puffs of white smoke rising up from the town. Metal plinked harmlessly off the mechanoids' armored bodies.

"Banana Guards?" Finn whispered in horror.

"It was the best option I had," she defended as Seth and his posse swirled into a panicked knot.

Then one of the men raised his rifle, pointing it at her. "Make 'em stop!"

The closest mechanoid whirled as its concealed pilot exclaimed in surprise, guns clacking as the barrels rotated and armed.

"Automated subroutines," she continued before holding her breath, watching the man with the gun.

One of his fellows pushed down the rifle, pointing at the mechanoid's machine guns aimed at them.

Seth dropped his rifle, raising his arms as an example to the others. "Ma'am, please. Ruthie and Sam are back there," he begged. "I didn't do it and I don't know who did. I swear on my immortal soul, that's the truth!"

"I believe you," she answered gravely, remaining still to avoid provoking a blood bath. "But only you can stop that 'bot right now by dropping your guns. It's programmed to shoot anyone who threatens me. Drop them and it'll lower its guns."

"But the town!" protested another.

"Their current orders are to hold their fire unless either Finn or I are in immediate danger," she reiterated. "See? They aren't shooting even though peeps in there are shooting at them."

One of the Banana Guards activated a siren and flashing lights, adding to the steadily increasing background noise.

"Bananas are poop," Finn hissed.

"I know," she bit out in an equally aggrieved tone. "But I tried making the 'bots smart and they tried to take over the kingdom. I tried making them dumb and their target acquisition got mondo scary."

"So you made them extra dumb?"

"Finn," she warned in exasperation.

It wasn't as if she hadn't peeled her brain trying to find a solution to an incompetently stupid army. There was a potential solution in genetics but it required either time she didn't have or a helping hand she couldn't reach.

She looked up into the sky where Lady circled patiently, and swallowed back the tight lump in her throat. Keeping busy helped keep her mind off it, but having seen Marceline – even if only briefly – had highlighted her loneliness. The last thing she needed on her mind right now, amidst the rising cacophony of panic, the men shouting at each other over what to do, whom to trust, was Marceline.

Bonnibel could ask her for anything and it would be granted so long as she could reach her. The immediate threat to Bonnibel's life had overridden the laws governing the Nightosphere. It was a lucky break, one that confirmed that the clause specifying that the Lord of Evil could protect her consort against any threat superseded existing conventions. She had wondered about the implicit limitations. Yet Marceline had left so quickly and in such a tight-lipped rage that Bonnibel never got the chance to explain what was happening. Had been happening.

Typical.

She looked back at the men when she heard a series of soft impacts in the grass as they dropped their weapons. Far behind them, the mechanoid had lowered its gun barrels in programmed response. She released a mental sigh of relief. The coding worked.

"We are going into town, gentlemen. Please leave your weapons. You may retrieve them after this matter is resolved."

She began to walk briskly, sweeping past the startled group of humans. Finn jogged up beside her, falling in step. The men took his lead and trailed behind them in tense silence. Down the hill, in the town, shouting and gunshots continued unabated despite the lack of fire from or advance by the mechanoids. They were persistent, she would give them that, persistent but stupid.

She huffed out a morbid laugh, causing Finn to glance at her, an eyebrow raised. It seemed that everything would remind her of Marceline at the moment. That idiot. Clingy one second, and flying off in a tiff the next. Some things never changed.

But Marceline had. 

Their fleeting exchange had unsettled Bonnibel. Marceline had appeared gaunt, the hollows of her cheeks emphasizing the sharp slash of bone and sunken, red eyes. The hunger and malevolence in her bearing had been unfamiliar and disquieting. As was the smell of rotting flesh and the filth encrusting her skin and suit. In short, Marceline had, in that moment, fit the image of the humans' Devil. Of course, that similarity ended with her outward appearance because the demon described by the humans' religion probably didn't rescue or comfort friends.

She halted in front of the barred gate. How could the humans be so incapable of recognizing mercy and restraint for what it was?

She took a deep breath. "Open the lumping gate or I'll blast it down!"

"Queebles," Finn muttered again, "get a grip."

"Stop muttering at me, you dingus! I don't care what they think about us and I have a grip! All they need to do is give me what I want and this will all be over."

Finn pursed his lips at her, which she knew meant he wanted to say something smart but was holding his tongue. "What if a bunch of 'em know the spell?"

"Then I'll take care of it," she answered lowly, feeling her lips pull into a sneer as the gate remained shut.

Seth jogged into her peripheral view, wiping a hand over his mouth. He stared at the gate as if he might will it open, then looked at her with wide eyes.

She bent her head and murmured a command into the communication unit disguised as a brass button.

Finn's lips parted in sudden comprehension before he threw himself down yelling, "Hit the ground!"

Bonnibel crossed her arms, too furious to give a toot as a beam of energy shot out from the nearest mechanoid's cannon and destroyed the gate. She hissed as a splinter of wood grazed her temple. Squinting, she tried to make out what was past the dust and smoke as the edges of the gate caught on fire. As soon as a breeze cleared a line of sight, she marched through the opening to face an array of muzzles.

"Whoo boy," Finn commented from close behind her.

"I think some of you have mistaken kindness, tolerance and generosity for fear, weakness and ignorance!" she shouted without preamble. "I permit you to live on my lands as an act of benevolence, I help keep you safe, provide food and assistance, and you repay that with assassination?"

Seeing several men take better aim as she stood her ground, she bared her teeth in the snarl she had been holding back. "You idiots! Aren't you wondering how I survived an attack by so many demons? Look at me!" She gestured at her bloody uniform. "They tried to cut me in half but I'm perfectly fine and every last one of them is dead. What does that tell you?"

They hesitated, some speaking to others, the rest glancing up at the looming mechanoids or the destroyed gate.

"Y'all better listen, y'hear me?" Seth shouted toward the townsfolk, holding out his hands in placation. "I know you think you got a bead on her, but that devil lady'll be here faster'n you can blink. And then we'll all be in for it 'cause the Queen here won't be alive to stop her taking revenge. You want that?"

A hush fell over the group in isolated lulls that spread until every human not hiding was heeding their respective leaders.

"You will notice that the Destructobots have not fired upon you despite their obvious capacity to do so," she reinforced, sweeping her gaze across the attentive audience. "I don't want to raze your town, but I will if the person or persons responsible for the attack against me don't step forward. I urge you to turn them in, now."

"Ma'am, let me talk to 'em," Seth pleaded quietly. "Please, give me time. If you see someone running, you have my blessing to shoot 'em down."

"Go," she permitted tersely, well aware of how intently Finn was eying her, trying to get her attention. “And you are staying here,” she said more quietly, addressing him.

She released a controlled breath, regret washing over her as she watched Seth and his loyal followers disperse through the crowd. So far, Finn had kept his opinions to himself and demonstrated solidarity, but she wondered if he liked her enough to stand aside as the town burned. He had always been forgiving, even toward enemies, but these people were his kind. It might not matter that none were direct relatives. Moreover, his biological signature was currently programmed as an invalid target, which made him the one person who could stop her.

She heard him sigh as he looked away and crossed his arms in disgust. As the minutes ticked by, a familiar, clinical detachment settled over her like an old, comforting blanket. Too much was changing too quickly, a concept she had always ridiculed, but here she was longing for the past. She prepared to give the security override that would make Finn a valid target. It was the logical thing to do; making him exempt had been sentimental of her.

A commotion drew her focus to a disturbance moving through the loose crowd. Her shoulders tensed in restrained hope, followed by dizzying relief when she saw two men dragging a third person who twisted and struggled. Behind them Lawrence Marino trailed, head hanging forlornly as his mother threw curses and insults at him.

He looked up and met her eyes, tear tracks visible on his cheeks. His gaze was hollow and he made no comment in his defense before looking back down at his feet.

Bonnibel dodged a glob of spit from Janine Marino before studying the woman coldly. It wouldn't have made a difference given how bloody her clothes were, but spit was nasty. In fact, all bodily fluids were pretty gross, but at least bleeding was involuntary.

She listened to the stream of strange threats and insults before backhanding the woman.

Seth and Imtiaz stumbled under the unexpected force of impact but maintained their grip on Janine.

Seth licked his lips nervously before speaking. "Law says he saw his ma using sorcery to call up 'em demons a little while ago. Says he saw her do it a bunch of times but didn't say nothing 'cause no one got hurt and it's his ma, after all."

She regarded the boy thoughtfully, conscious of Seth, Imtiaz and Finn watching her closely. They all wore similar expressions of dread. She narrowed her eyes in consideration. Excessive leniency had gotten her into this fix and the boy loved his mother enough to keep a dangerous secret. As he had witnessed the spell, he might cast it, especially in a desperate bid to protect her.

"Why ain't you dead?" Janine snarled, blood trickling from her nose over her puffy lips. Her cheek was bruising red, her face a mix of rage and grief. "You monster."

Bonnibel felt a tic begin at the corner of her eye. If the woman tried to spit again, she would break her jaw.

"Woman, you best shut yer trap afore the Queen kills you right here in front of your boy."

"You backstabbing little prick!"

"Witch," Imtiaz broke in, uttering the single word in condemnation.

"I'm a witch?" she shrieked back incredulously. "Look around you, man! We're surrounded by black magic and unnatural creatures, talking beasts and all sorts of sordid goings-on. Every time I wake up, I think I've gone mad."

Seth and Imtiaz both bowed their heads in mute admission but did not release her.

"Ma'am? You gonna kill my ma?"

Bracing her elbow, Bonnibel held her chin and worried her lips against her knuckles. Death was the customary punishment for treason, but there was also banishment. Janine would probably die out in the wilds, a casualty of her own inflexibility. Bonnibel would make another personal enemy in her son and possibly earn Finn's enmity as well.

"I'm hoping to avoid it," she answered finally, "but it depends heavily on how cooperative your mother is. I'm sorry."

"She'll have more sense when she sobers up," Seth assured her quickly. "And we can keep an eye on Law here," he added hopefully.

"I ain't gonna do nothing," Lawrence protested throwing back his shoulders in pride.

"She don't know that, son," Imtiaz reprimanded gently. "It might be you'll change your tune if your ma hangs."

Lawrence looked at Bonnibel solemnly before transferring his gaze to Finn. When he received no reassurance from his idol, he slumped, blinking rapidly as more tears pooled in his eyes.

Though she wanted to tell the boy that his mother was safe, that she would come back, she couldn't. She didn't know how deeply involved Janine might be with a demon cabal to make promises like that. Instead, she looked back at a now silent Janine and sighed.

"Finn, take her into custody."


	6. Chapter 6

"How long you gonna keep her there?" Finn asked quietly as they left, knowing that sound traveled in the subterranean tunnels of the dungeon. 

"I need to tend to you and there's some equipment to get ready to deal with Janine," Bubblegum said, without any particular emotion. 

Her face was set but without hard lines or planes that might indicate anger. A slight vagueness about her eyes meant she was planning her next moves, calculating likely outcomes, her mind racing ahead of her physical location. She frowned, a slight crease between her brows, glancing at him while they ascended the spiraling staircase. 

"Did you think I was lying to that child?" 

"Thought you might've, yeah," he admitted. "They probably think you did." 

"Are all humans naturally paranoid and suspicious or is that trait acquired based on their own behavior?" 

He shrugged. Part of what made him an effective hero was his natural suspicion of an opponent's actions. Maybe it was like she said and all humans were crafty and sneaky, like trolls. Or maybe it was that everyone always seemed out to beat up on humans so they got that way to survive. 

"What sort of equipment?" he asked. 

"I'm going to erase her mind," she answered, pushing open the wide dungeon door and holding it open for him. 

He stumbled mentally, holding the door, rather than shutting it. "All of it?" 

"Don't be silly. Of course not. I'll filter through her memories and erase any instance that involves knowledge of the portal spell, along with any interaction or events that encouraged her to act in such a fashion. As an added bonus, viewing her memories might offer further insight into human nature." 

Finn shut the door, falling in step behind her. Whenever she talked like that about people, as if they were particularly interesting experiments, he always got a chill up his spine. Sure, he had seen the moldering skeletons and corpses left behind in the dungeon, some in smaller rooms clearly designed as laboratories, but it had never been anyone he had known. Those had been strangers, bad guys locked up for committing some crime horrible enough to warrant the dungeon. 

But he knew Janine Marino. She had been a seamstress back in Tin Sea, brought on with the crew partly due to her ability to repair clothing and sails. Sure, Janine could get a bit mean about what she called 'all those talking animals' and refused to go shopping in person in the Grocery Kingdom, but she was alright if she stayed in town. Or at least, if she hadn't been drinking too much of Imtiaz's beer. 

He pressed his lips together watching Bubblegum stalk toward the nearest medical treatment room, efficiently placed near the dungeon's exit. Janine was pretty nice most the time, but apparently she was also okay with talking to demons and that was weird. He would take talking animals over demons any day and so should she, according to what he knew. 

"Are you gonna do it the same way you did the Lemongrabs?" he wondered, imagining Janine strapped to a chair, brain glistening as Bubblegum poked at it with a pencil. 

"Oh, good grief, no!" she said in surprise, turning on him with raised eyebrows. "Humans are much more fragile than Candy people. They die when you poke holes in them. Not to mention," she craned her head around to glare at her bloodied shoulder, "it hurts. No, I'll be using more advanced technology to reprogram her." 

He scratched at the bristly hair under his lower lip, considering whether or not to point out that humans weren't computers either. Best not, he decided. It would be better to remain present while she worked in case things got hairy. If she knew he objected, she would bar him from the lab entirely, just as she had prevented him from interfering in the town. He could have defied her easily enough, but she had seemed to have matters under control. So long as she did, he would bide his time. 

Bubblegum washed her hands then headed straight for a cabinet he knew from considerable experience contained first aid and basic surgical supplies. As she opened the doors and rummaged through the shelves and boxes, he pulled off his hood, outer tunic and shirt, taking a seat on the steel table. It was almost a ritual between them, one she never handed off to Dr. Ice Cream unless she needed to attend some desperately urgent governmental concern. 

He had never felt self-conscious about disrobing in front of her, never been overly aware of her evaluation or wondered what she was thinking about him. He twisted his hands together and suppressed the urge to kick his feet as she approached, snapping on a pair of thin gloves. He felt himself blushing under her clinical gaze as she noted the most severe lacerations and a few darkening bruises. 

She looked up, meeting his eyes. "I've made it awkward, haven't I?" 

His lips in a moue of surprise, he couldn't answer at first. "You noticed," he said stupidly, the words thick in his mouth. 

"I always notice," she replied, cleaning a laceration with an iodine soaked cloth. "I was taught it was impolite to draw attention to a person's discomfort. One should feign ignorance to ease social strain." 

He held out his arm when prompted, inhaling sharply against the sting of fiber against raw flesh. It was a familiar pain and he pushed it away with practiced ease. It would be one more scar amongst many, the patchwork pattern on his body keeping track of the years. 

"It works too, but I remember, once, Marceline accused me of being a cold bitch," she continued, tipping on more iodine before dabbing another cut, expression neutral. "She was upset over a...public incident with a visiting dignitary and I wanted her to calm down. I explained the circumstances so she would understand why it happened, thinking if she could see the logical progression..." She licked her lips, holding the brown-stained cloth mid-air. 

"She got madder, didn't she?" 

"Furious. Looking back, I realize she already understood the reasons. She wanted reassurance. She wanted to know if I considered the cause unjust, unreasonable." 

"So you didn't give her a hug, huh?" 

She shook her head tersely. "It didn't occur to me, which is ironic. Candy citizens require an enormous degree of physical and verbal affection, especially as children." 

He watched her work, moving when asked, chewing over what she had told him. It wasn't a non sequitur and she wasn't making small talk, though she could chatter on aimlessly with the best of them when the situation demanded. He figured it was the equivalent of being skilled with a sword and shield. After a while, it became a reflex and a person made it look easy. 

Easy, he mentally repeated, then modified the word. She was putting him at ease by relating a socially awkward experience. He watched her thread a needle with stiff, black string, the special kind that wouldn't rot or break. He couldn't feel the two worst cuts, which meant the local anesthetic was already working. He would feel the stitches plenty later, but his job was to hold still for now. 

She stepped back, needle in hand, glasses on her face, expression perfectly composed. The light caught on the lenses, obscuring her eyes but he could feel the assessment. There was no reason for her to step away except to check his mood or the look on his face without being obvious about it. She probably even knew about the light. 

He didn't waste his energy faking a smile. "You know she's pretty mad at you, right?" 

Bubblegum stepped back in, ducking her face and concentrating on the first laceration she intended to suture. "She was upset because we were set upon by demons sent by one of her political rivals and I was injured. Her behavior was pretty typical." 

"Really?" 

"She's always angry when she's scared," she answered as if he had asked a foolish question. 

He rolled his eyes, letting out a sound of disgust. "She was scared alright." 

She looked up, thread drawn tight and held out, frowning in puzzlement. "You're being facetious. Is there something I don't know?" 

"C'mon," he groused, "she knows we're always in danger. I'm always going off on quests and even with Ice King toast, you have enemies. How can you be so dumb when you're so smart?" 

He fell silent in shock over the words that had tumbled out unintended. He didn't believe Queen Bubblegum was stupid. She was a genius, but she could be so oblivious to some things that it blew him away at times. 

She was staring at him. 

"I'm sorry," he blurted out hastily. "I didn't mean-" 

"It's quite all right, Finn. I think I know what you meant, but you haven't answered my question. It would be helpful if you explained." 

"She saw us together and knew you were mackin' on me. Don't you get it?" 

"Get what? Do you think she's jealous?" 

"I think she's stuck in the Nightosphere all the time and can't stop you from doing whatever you want and she knows it. Duh, she's jelly." 

She went back to suturing, poise unruffled as if his words hadn't touched her. "I already told you. Marceline has encouraged me to seek out your attention. Although I don't seem to be doing a very good job of it and frankly, I'm beginning to doubt I should." 

He opened his mouth, then closed it, pursing his lips. He watched her work methodically, making tidy, crossed stitches until she knotted off the first suture. She cut the thread and taped down the tag ends before reaching for a roll of clean, white bandaging. 

Though he had been thrilled to be an honorary uncle to Jake's pups, he had been too young to genuinely consider children of his own. He had never known his parents and didn't fault them for not being in his life. Sometimes he imagined what they had been like, but he could never believe they left him in the forest of their own free will. Something had happened to them, likely death, eaten by a monster that considered humans a prime delicacy instead of sentient beings. 

As dangerously as he lived his life, he wasn't sure he wanted to risk orphaning a child or children. It would be irresponsible and dishonorable to boot. On the other hand, any kid Bubblegum had would always have the best of care. It would be surrounded by a surrogate family, have the best education and never want for anything. It would be protected by stone walls and an army of guards. It might turn out to be a spoiled rotten snot, but there were worse things in life than being cherished. 

"Why do you think she wants that?" He watched Bubblegum's shoulders rise and fall on a sigh. 

"If I had to make an educated guess," she began, "and putting aside the obvious: because you're friends. I think she sees you as a surrogate and...trusts you." 

"But not so much anymore," he scoffed, tone tinged with regret. 

"No," she objected, "she does. She...we both understood that you were extremely upset, with good reason." She paused, rolling the needle between her fingers. "She was sad about it, not angry." 

"I guess...Me too," he agreed cautiously, "but I think you aren't taking Marceline's feelings into account." 

Cutting the thread after finishing the suture on his arm, she prepared another thread for the gash on his chest. "She's nothing but feels." 

He twisted his lips to one side in tacit agreement. "She is pretty mushy but that's my point. When someone's mushy you gotta be careful how hard you squash 'em. You can wind up with guts everywhere." 

She wrinkled her nose at his analogy, put down the needle and picked up a pair of tweezers. "Gross, Finn." 

He nearly leapt off the gurney when she plucked out the first hair, yelping. 

"Oh, hold still. For Billy's sake, it's just some hair." 

"On my chest! Dude, that hurts!" 

She rolled her eyes and kept plucking out hairs around the gash. "So start shaving it off or something." 

"No, I like it," he growled, gritting his teeth against the shockingly intense little spikes of pain. 

"Fine. I like it too," she grumbled, intent on her work. "So quit being a baby." 

"If you think I'm a baby, a real one will make your head explode." 

"Probs," she replied nonchalantly, setting down the tweezers and reaching for the needle. "Ready?" 

"For a baby? Not really." 

She looked up at him with exasperation written all over her face, needle pinched between her fingers and some strands of hair flopped across her glasses. 

With one finger, he flipped the hair off them and tucked it behind her ear. "But what about Marce?" 

She narrowed her eyes at his stubborn refusal to change the subject. "What about her? She's busy, I can't get her to come here, she's mad about stuff I probs don't get. You say you're not mad at her, I'm mad at her for being so flaky, the humans hate her for existing, and all I know for certain is that she wants me to..." She took a deep breath and stabbed him with the needle. "The one thing I can definitely change is my relationship with you, so that is the course of action I'm pursuing." 

"Okay," he accepted, flinching at the tiny jabs. "I get it. You gotta do something or it feels like you're doing nothing 'cause you're sick of waiting, but I don't think she's avoiding you. I bet whatever Janine was doing with the demons involves Marceline." 

"Obvs." 

"Just making sure we're on the same page. So maybe it's not that's she's busy. Maybe she can't come when you call. Like really can't. And, if that's the case then she's isn't being, uh, what's the phrase?" 

"Passive-aggressive?" 

"Yeah, that. She isn't pressuring you to mack on me." 

She raised a shoulder. "It's possible, but she is passive-aggressive." 

"Well, so are you," he countered, then jumped and protested. "Ow!" 

"My apologies," she murmured. 

"Ha!" he challenged, knowing she had just proven his assessment correct. "And anyway, I know you guys have known each other since forever-" 

"Two-hundred and ninety-three years." 

"Woah." He paused, then gradually smirked. "A teenage romance?" 

She chuckled while tying off the suture. "No. She and Billy trapped the Lich in amber, but not before my parents were killed in defense of the kingdom. I had to assume the throne. There wasn't time for anything except work and catching up on all the things that had been neglected over the years. I was so busy and then...She stopped coming around." 

"Bummer. That was the last time you guys got along?" 

"No. She came back after a while to harass...to check one me, I guess, hanging around the edges of my kingdom in her various spare homes." 

He nodded soberly. "Yeah, if you don't invite a vampire past your doorstep, they can't come in." 

She stared at him, caught in the middle of cutting the thread. "That's bull-gunk and you know it." 

He grinned, surprising a laugh out of her, then saddened. "But it's sorta true with her." 

"Marceline goes wherever she pleases," she contradicted, "whenever she pleases, with whomever she pleases and however she pleases. I've never seen anyone else behaving with such impunity. Besides, technically speaking, from a legal perspective, she has prior claim of residence in this region. I've found her signature 'M' all throughout my kingdom so it's definitely not any respect for its borders that kept her away." 

He bit his lips at her utter conviction. How could Bubblegum know that Marceline's anger invariably disguised fear, but fail to see through her facade of unflappable courage? He started to say something and stopped himself. She had mentioned Marceline fighting alongside Billy and he imagined Bubblegum as an actual teenager, idealistic, inexperienced and alone without an equal to support her. 

Had Marceline been that hero? He squinted an eye shut, struggling to visualize Marceline as the Candy Kingdom's champion, fearless and relentless against any foe and singing about her victories afterward. Maybe Bubblegum couldn't see her as anything less. It was difficult to picture, but it would explain a lot, how a Candy nobleman would be eager to introduce his child to her, how Billy felt comfortable retiring, even how the kingdom maintained its borders despite being surrounded by potentially hostile nations. Sure, some of that was good diplomacy but an underlying threat went a long way. 

"You disagree?" she asked, head cocked, watching him. 

"Remember what I said about not squishing her?" 

"I know it's impossible not to, but go on." 

"Think of it this way. You have a mondo brain, right? You notice every little bit of information everywhere and you're always thinking about something and putting together those bits. Peeps don't even notice they're giving away info, but you see it." 

"Yes, yes," she agreed irritably, flapping a hand to speed him up. "Get on with your analogy." 

"So remember when you told me how you feel stuff but don't know what?" 

Her expression tightened and she started collecting her tools. "Yes." 

"She does know what you're feeling. She sees every little bit and reacts the same way your brain starts cranking automatically." 

"Are you trying to convince me that her bad behavior is my fault?" she snipped. 

"Nah. Peep's responsible for their own bad acts. I mean, use it as evidence, go backward to know what sort of feels you mighta shown. Then you'll know why she's acting however way." 

"Do you have any idea what a tedious process you're describing? Finn," she said, hand on her hip, "I know how to do that but it's impossible to keep up the analysis when she's blowing out twenty different reactions at the same time. It's too much. Then there are the tears and hysterics with the shouting and shape-shifting, setting fire to things..." 

"Hm." He sat back, momentarily stumped. "You need an interpreter." 

"That would be ideal," she concurred glumly. "Though she has seemed more settled since taking over the Nightosphere." 

"She has?" 

"Which you'd know if you hadn't been avoiding her," she confirmed archly. "So I really don't get what's got her so bent out of shape." 

"She misses you," he supplied bluntly. "She misses you and probs wants to be with you, but it looks like you're with me." 

She turned to him with a frown after closing the cabinet doors. "I don't see why that means she can't be with me. I don't understand why she would construe that as a rejection at all." 

He opened his mouth, closed it and sighed. Bubblegum was used to getting whatever she wanted, without question or refusal. That was probably on account of being royalty. The Nightosphere on the other hand was fiercely territorial and competitive with any relationship or arrangement that wasn't exclusive being treated with mistrust. On top of that, Marceline was pretty ancient and sometimes she was a bit old-fashioned about things when one least expected it. 

"You know those old movies we used to watch, the mushy ones?" 

"Oh glob, those." She rolled her eyes. "Will they or won't they, love triangles and those silly competitions over who would get who." 

"Right," he said slowly, "but those movies are from Marceline's time. Think about it." 

She went still, doing just that. Then she threw up her arms. "This isn't a competition!" 

He leaned over and picked up some clean bandages and began taping them over the abandoned sutures on his chest. 

Across the room, Bubblegum began pacing in agitated circles punctuated by irate kicks to nearby furniture as she considered all the implications of his hypothesis. After some time, she settled down and stopped with her arms akimbo. 

"She's stupid," she announced. 

"She's not stupid," he contradicted. "She's old and mushy." 

"And passive-aggressive." 

"Fine, but you get why she's mad?" 

"Yes. It's stupid, but yes." She began unbuttoning her lab coat after taking off her glasses and shoving them in a pocket. She side-eyed him. "Is that why you're rebuffing me even though we like each other?" 

He tipped his head in admission. "Let's say, theoretically, I went along with your plan. Would I be a real dad? Like, could I teach the kid stuff I believed or would you want to be in control all the time?" 

She straightened. "I wasn't under the impression you were interested in a long-term relationship with me. I know I would prefer to retain control of the throne, but I would be willing to compromise on parental duties as long as you bear in mind that the child is destined to become a ruling monarch and must be trained as such. There are some aspects of that I'm certain you would consider unfair but, I assure you, are quite necessary to result in a fair and just ruler." 

It struck him that the conversation they were having was so clinical it was surreal. It would make sense, for both of them. He could have a kid, or maybe even more than one, knowing they were safe. And the thought of her picking one of the new humans curdled his gut, a possessive rejection of the idea. Knowing she would have a kid with Marceline didn't bother him at all, and that was when he realized Bubblegum was right about her. Marceline was too much a part of his life to be an enemy no matter what she had become. 

He chewed on his upper lip, teeth catching on chapped skin, then grunted in worry. "Wouldn't want another Goliad." 

"No," she agreed. "I made some real mistakes there." 

"But I'm not agreeing," he added hastily. 

"I know," she said quietly, "but thank you for hearing me out...and for that kiss. It was a very nice kiss." 

He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks flush. "So, about that bomb..." 

She sighed heavily and muttered, "Talk about blowing it." 

He smiled despite himself. "Is that all you planted in my house?" 

"If you must know, there was surveillance equipment as well, but before you say anything, I only enabled it when I had cause for concern. I didn't spy on you twenty-four-seven." 

He knew about the central surveillance system in the castle which she used to maintain security. He found it a bit creepy, but it made sense considering how often Ice King had tried to kidnap her. Not to mention, Lemongrab One could be a creeper. He would include Marceline in the list, but she was smart enough to turn invisible when sneaking around in someone's home. All in all, the cameras allowed Bubblegum to know where and when disaster struck. 

"So, how often did you watch?" 

"A few times when you were especially vocal in your disagreement over a decision I made. Most times when Flame Princess visited." 

"What the flip! You watched us?" 

"My intentions were never prurient. No matter how noble your intentions or how...good she's turned out to be, her passion is dangerous and destructive. Your home is on the edge of my kingdom which makes your actions my responsibility. I couldn't ignore a threat like that." 

"My girlfriend was dangerous?" he challenged. "How about yours?" 

She snapped off her gloves and threw them in the trash. "Can't you see this isn't personal? Are you still too young to handle the facts?" 

"So, you were gonna firebomb me if I ever became a threat to your kingdom? All those times I helped, saved your life, and it didn't mean beans?" 

She whirled, meeting his eyes from across the room, before hers dropped slightly to the faint scar marring his cheek. It was less prominent than the newer, deeper ones on his face, but it carried a memory between them. Then her gaze fell to an ugly patch of healed skin attesting to a severe burn on his chest. 

"Hypocrisy is unbecoming of you," she said tartly, taking off her lab coat and hanging it on a rack. "Yes, I would have killed you to protect my kingdom. You are charismatic, well-loved and admired. You survive against all probable odds and inspire people to follow your example and that is far more dangerous than any sword. People would follow you if you chose to lead, if you set yourself against me in some misguided gesture of heroic revolt." 

He shook his head, understanding but resenting her logic. "I get it. I do, but man, that's harsh. I know we don't agree on some stuff, but I'd never sabotage you on purpose." 

Bubblegum lifted her crown off her head, looping it over her wrist as she smoothed her hair fussily. "Except Marceline was right and you did. You shared sensitive information with a potential enemy because you felt her actions were unjust. You interfered with a delicate political balance out of moral superiority," she snarled, losing her composure as she shoved the operating table a few inches. "It's easy to cast judgment when you only answer to yourself, isn't it?" 

He slid off the table and circled to the side opposite her. 

She grabbed the scabbard and his sword, pulling it out of reach and flinging it to the floor behind her, stunning him with her disproportionate fear. 

For a few seconds, they glared in mutual anger. He was rarely the target of her wrath, but he began to imagine what it would be like to have his every action condemned. What it would be like to be dismissed, belittled and repeatedly informed he was worth less than thousands of strangers, property and a title. To be reduced to an inconvenience left his throat tight. The muscles of his shoulders tensed and it felt as if a vice clamped around his temples, the sudden headache making it difficult to think. 

"Tell me," she began softly, "if a human fleet arrived tomorrow, who would the humans here side with? Would you side with them or us? You don't need to answer that, but think about it. Think good and hard and then look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong to defend myself." 

Rolling his head and shoulders, trying to shake off the aggravating tension, he shoved mentally against the throbbing in his head. It would be so easy to react emotionally, defensively to her words right now. He flexed his arm, testing the stitches, feeling the tight pull against his flesh and the heat of inflammation. So many times she had tended to wounds gained on her behalf, a silent sorrow in her eyes. So many times, she had tended to burns caused by stubborn desire, flinty rage unspoken. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that he had always been loyal to her, but he wasn't sure. He was human and it was a frightening solace to know he wasn't alone. 

He didn't always understand the new humans. Many of their customs and behaviors were strange, but they had welcomed him as one of them. He taught them the local languages and dialects, and they related their fascinating, alien, cultural history. He experienced an inexplicable kinship, one that superseded his fraternal bond with Jake in some respects. 

He imagined she felt the same way about her subjects, willing to die for them, knowing they needed her to live and serve. 

With significant effort, he relaxed his stance, angling his body to expose his side to Bubblegum, extremely aware of her matching wary tension. He had always sought her respect, often to a fault, but he had never wanted to frighten her. She wasn't an enemy and he had never intended his actions to put them into conflict. But she was right, he had. The recent events were his fault and her past actions were in keeping with her usual methods. She was not his enemy, he mentally repeated. 

He had circumvented her authority and at least some of the new humans had taken that as a sign that they could plot against her. He had led by example and there were no take-backs. He could extricate himself from their group or he could continue leading, but there was no happy medium where he could enjoy that respect without taking responsibility for its consequences. She was totally right, yet he still imagined shoving that gurney hard into her gut. 

"You don't have a headache, do you?" he asked. 

Taken aback by his change of topic and quiet acceptance, Bubblegum blinked twice before replacing her crown. "A bit of one." She shrugged. "Get 'em a lot. Stress." 

Stepping around the table, he reached for his shirt and tunic as casually as possible. The shirt was stained and bloody, but it was all he had available. Wrinkling his nose at the cold, damp and crusty patches, he pulled it carefully over his bandages. Plenty of experience with injuries meant he had no wish to tear the stitches and repeat the suturing process. 

Bubblegum took a deep breath, turned away from him and picked up his sword. She laid it on the table and put some distance between them out of new found caution. 

He picked up the sword and scabbard, slinging it over his shoulder diagonally, and meeting her gaze squarely after settling his bearskin headdress. "I'm sorry for scaring you. But you sorta owe me a new house though." 

"I've already sent a salvage and repair crew. You're welcome to pick a room in the castle until the new house is built. Do you want your loot melted, struck into coin and put in a vault, or do you intend to keep it in your home again?" 

He pursed his lips, realizing it had been left unattended. "Crud." 

"Don't worry about it. I dispatched guards before we left the scene," she admitted perfunctorily, cutting a wide berth as she passed him on way to the door. 

He scrambled after her, aware that she was probably going to deal with Janine. Instead, she turned the opposite direction. Following curiously when she made no move to stop him, he considered what was going to happen. His actions would affect those of the queen, her actions would dictate Marceline's response, and he already knew her attitude toward humans in Ooo. Or, at least, in the Candy Kingdom. 

He studied the tiles, hands in his pockets, his sword a familiar weight between his shoulder blades. His home was near the border of the kingdom, in the grasslands that were regarded as neutral territory. That region, in turn, served as a buffer against the sparsely settled forest, swamp and desert. The Candy Kingdom nominally claimed the grasslands because none of the neighboring kingdoms possessed the military strength to challenge that. 

"What if humans come again and they aren't all bad guys? Would you make them leave, or could they stay?" 

"Given the contentious nature of the ones I've met, I don't want them in my kingdom. I imagine if I forced them back out to sea using a display of force, they would circle Ooo and land in another region." 

"And jack shit up?" 

"If they're as ignorant and intolerant as your group? Very much so." 

"Ruthie, Seth and the kids are all right, even Law. Imtiaz is pretty nice, too. He's happy to be off a ship and running the inn." 

"Finn," she warned tersely as he was obviously stalling. 

"Right, so..." He exhaled between pursed lips. He prided himself on courage, and the worst that might happen was her laughter. "Why don't you make me a duke or something? I can be in charge of the grasslands and the humans can live there. Not a lot of Candy people are out there, especially toward the forest, and they're usually hardier than the ones near the city." 

She slowed, ahead of him, but she kept walking, her head lowered as she clasped her hands behind her back. "You realize this isn't a game? There's no undo button. You can't quit mid-level or restart." 

"It is pretty scary," he admitted. "And I don't know any of the fancy stuff but I've got the cash, and the humans here already want to follow me, I think." 

She picked up her pace, climbing more stairs. "It would legitimize my position in their eyes by creating a political tie," she mused. "But you must forgive my doubts about your long-term commitment. I'd want to see you perform the necessary duties rather than play the hero when the chips are down." 

"So, you'll think about it?" he asked, reeling on the cusp of monumental change. His hands began to sweat, the future rearing up like an invisible monster he could never slay. 

"Yes, I'll think about it," she said, stopping in front of her chamber doors. "I'm going to change. I need Janine to see a professional, not a ragtag murder victim," she explained after a beat. "There are some guard uniforms that will fit you," she offered. 

He sighed, catching the implicit advice. "Guess I shouldn't look like a bloody peasant, huh?" 

"The more you lead, the more others will judge you by appearances," she confirmed pensively. "I'll have Peppermint bring you some. You can pick the one you like best. If you don't like the colors, ask Lady to change them." 

She regarded him astutely from the doorway and he caught a subtle roll of her eyes before she stepped through the doors into her chambers, leaving him out in the hallway. 

* * *

Marceline would go alone, this time. There was little she could do about the blood in her hair or skin, but a brief thought to her amulet refreshed her suit. So, it was clean and pressed, the silk shirt soft against her skin when she arrived on the Mongolian steppes of the Sixteenth Level. Or rather, what was left of them. 

This kingdom was fading. Its culture was forgotten and what passed for its religion had gone from Earth. Already fields of lava and flame were reclaiming the land, a once blue sky turning red as it was swamped by the Nightosphere proper. An absurdly small patch of steppe with two lone, rebuilt yurts occupied the wasteland below her. 

She landed on slick obsidian, boot heels sliding on its irregular waves and slopes. She could have landed in the midst of their leftover camp, but she would give them time to formulate a response. She didn't want to kill any more children, no matter how old they really were. Bonnibel would insist there was another solution and Finn would be flat out horrified and condemn the action. Not that it really mattered. 

By the time she reached the camp, the survivors had gathered to face her. It was a pitiful group, composed mostly of younger children, a woman serving as their foster mother, and a boy who appeared to be around twelve or thirteen. Though his skin was brown and his hair dark, he reminded her of Finn in his sheepskin hat, holding a scimitar. 

The boy held out his sword, blade horizontal at the level of his chest. "I am Ganzorig and I will not allow you to destroy my clan." 

Marceline looked past him at the woman. She assumed it was his mother, but there was no way to be certain without asking. She was beautiful, bright blond hair flashing in the waning light. Her clothing was equally warm, a golden beige tunic decorated with intricate beading and embroidery. Whoever she was, her status was higher than the boy's, even though he claimed to be head of this remaining clan. 

"Your father couldn't stop me and you def can't stop me, kiddo. I killed those jinn you sent. They failed, by the way." She didn't bother pointing out that it was impossible to kill her consort before she fulfilled her obligation to the Lord or Evil. She could be chopped into pieces and her skull bashed in, but Bonnibel's soul was barred from separating from her body or entering the Dead Worlds until then. 

His face twisted in anger, lines between his brows wrinkling his nose, but it made him look younger rather than older. "You dishonored my family." 

"Your dad made a power grab and failed, kid. He knew what would happen to you guys if I wiped the floor with him, and he did it anyway." She looked around their shrinking reality, adding, "But I guess he didn't have much to lose." 

"What are you waiting for, Lord?" asked the woman. "We are the ones your army missed. We transgressed. Some here might be too young to understand the penalty, but what is done is done. Take our souls and be done." 

"No," said Marceline. 

"Why not?" shouted the boy. 

"Because it would be a mercy," she answered, curling her lip for emphasis. "Your kingdom is disappearing as the humans on Earth forget about you. You have no power. You have no authority. You are the last of your kind." 

She knew what that was like far better than this boy did. He had his siblings and his mother, or aunt, sister or whatever she was, quite possibly all of the above. He had a family and clan despite their isolation. She had been a refugee knowing that she was alone and different. As similar as Simon had seemed, she had known he wasn't like her because he made things cold where she could set them on fire. Ganzorig, for all his outward courage, had no idea what it was like to be displaced from his home and people. 

"Because of you! Because of Iblis's treachery!" 

She sighed at the answer. Everyone knew that the jinn Iblis wanted out of the Nightosphere, or at least dominion over it. Everyone knew, so everyone was mindful of his manipulative promises and backstabbing deals. Erlik must have been desperate in the face of annihilation to make a pact with him, just as she had guessed. She could go to Jahannam and have it out with Iblis, but there wouldn't be much point. He was relatively powerful and he smuggled goods through the Fire Kingdom, which made him a popular merchant. 

She batted Ganzorig's scimitar aside when he swiped at her, walking past him to face the woman. When the boy struck at her arm, she snatched the blade away, snapping it like a twig and tossing the pieces into a pool of creeping lava. 

"Who are you?" 

"Umay," answered the woman, raising her chin, expression unperturbed. 

Marceline mulled over the name until she identified the fertility and sun goddess, Erlik's sister. The children, including Ganzorig, were probably hers then and none of them could survive without her, the power of the sun. She nodded to herself. All she needed to defuse the boy's ambition was to give him a reason to care and time to chill out. Mostly, he needed hope, the most damning emotion of all. 

"I claim dominion," she said. 

Umay jerked back in surprise. 

Ganzorig gaped. "But you are a woman." 

"Yeah," Marceline drawled, "but I'm half human and a shape-shifter. Did you mistake me for my father?" 

She shifted several times to make her point, first imitating her father's form before adjusting it to resemble a masculine version of herself. Then she changed into a monstrous vampire bat that devolved into a monster sprouting tentacles. By the time she changed back into her default, humanoid form, the boy was staring at his mother in dismay. 

"Dude, I can do some crazy nasty things to her if I get bored," she said cheerfully, wrapping an arm around Umay as if she weren't making vile threats. "So why don't you quit repeating your dad's mistakes and take care of your sibs instead." 

"You cannot take her. We will die!" 

Marceline shrugged with a smile. "Well, I think she's hot so I'm taking her. I don't give a spit about the rest of you, but I'm guessing that if you make it to Pandemonium in time you won't die." She pointed. "Start walking that way." 

Umay had paled to a sickly puce as Marceline picked her up like a sack of potatoes, but she had the presence of mind to understand the reprieve being offered. "Ganzorig! Do not argue with her! Take the children to the city and stay away from this place. It is no longer a home." 

"But Umay, she dishonors you!" 

"Child, be a man. She is Lord of this world, Khan. All Khan's actions are honorable." 

Marceline bit her tongue, waiting to see if Ganzorig would be smart enough to take her advice, smart enough to realize she didn't want to slaughter a group of children. If the kids stayed separated too long from Umay, they would waste away. They might suffer during their journey but it would provide Marceline with time to find a solution that didn't involve execution. 

He looked up at them, between Umay's stern expression and Marceline's smirk his face flushed with shock and helpless fury. Then he closed his eyes, bowing his head, rage draining away to leave behind a forlorn child in a world he didn't understand. 

"We will come for you, Umay. I will free you," he said somberly. 

"You will do no such nonsense. Go to the city and provide homes for your brothers and sisters. Do not attempt to free me. If you throw away your life on a foolish quest, you leave them to die. You will not be so selfish, will you?" 

His mouth trembled as he struggled not to cry, shoulders jumping under his thick jerkin. He shook his head, saying, "I will do you proud, mother." 

"And that's a wrap," Marceline said, interrupting their little family moment. "See ya 'round, little booger," she called out, rising higher into the murky sky. 

Once out of sight, she adjusted her grip on Umay to make the woman more comfortable, humming to herself as she considered her next move. It would probably be a bath since her hair was getting downright itchy. As her hands were occupied, she created a tentacle to scratch her scalp. Funny how shifting never got rid of itchies. 

"What will you do with me?" Umay asked, breaking her silence. 

"Hm?" 

"Am I not permitted to ask?" 

"Huh?" 

"Are you paying attention?" 

"I am now." 

Umay sighed heavily in exasperation. "I asked what you intended to do with me." 

"Scared?" Marceline taunted in sing-song, knowing it was childish. 

"It seems a reasonable response given your nature. It is only that Ganzorig will expect to find me alive and if my suffering is too great, he will not abide by my wishes. I thought you might consider that." 

Marceline cackled, then flipped around to hold Umay up in the air like an overgrown child. 

Umay yelped, grabbing at her wrists as if she expected to be hurled into the empty air. 

"Chillax, babe. I'm gonna keep an eye on your kids. Where you wanna go?" 

"Babe?" Umay asked slowly. "I am not a child." 

"Figure of speech," Marceline said, toning down her manic grin. "What you wanna do? Anywhere in particular you'd like to live? Some secret ambition in life besides having a zillion kids just because some cosmic dude who's been away from his desk since forever assigned you the job?" 

Umay stared back, clearly perplexed, her braids flapping in the wind, beaded ends snapping against each other. "I do not understand. Have you not taken me as a slave? Did I misunderstand your words?" 

"Uh, well, technically. I did say it but I didn't mean it. I kinda figured you didn't want me to kill the rest of your kids just because the oldest one got too big for his britches and had a mad-on over his dad." A long walk had always helped her cool down after getting upset. It would either have the same result with Ganzorig or end with his death, after all. 

Comprehension lit Umay's expression. "His response was understandable," she said hesitantly. 

"Erlik challenged me in front of the entire Board," Marceline said without an ounce of humor. "I had no choice except to destroy him, but I'm not obligated to wipe out every last trace of his people, even if it is tradition." She frowned sourly at that word again. "And your precious little boy tried to assassinate my consort, which is technically treason." 

"Then he is doomed despite this mercy," Umay said sadly, eyes going distant. 

"Nah. I can blame the attack on Iblis since he probably set it up. He'll wriggle out of it because he's a big shot and the attack failed, and he probably knew it would, but your kid's safe enough so long as he doesn't screw the pooch." 

Umay gave another puzzled frown, letting out a gulp as Marceline pivoted around again to dangle her by the shoulders. "But I am your prisoner?" 

"Yeah, kinda. I'm gonna restrict you to the city, since he expects to find you there, but you can do whatever you want." She craned her head to look Umay in the face. "I'm not interested." 

"It was all a bluff?" 

"Mostly, except for the death threats. Ready to 'port?" 

"Do the people in your city speak as strangely as you?" 

"Uh, no," Marceline said, choosing her words more carefully. "Most talk more like you, but in different languages. Which I hadn't thought of," she admitted in consternation. "Hm." 

"I will need time to learn these new languages and the customs of your people." 

Marceline sighed. Why was being nice so complicated? That was probably why her dad hadn't bothered trying. Deciding that Umay had been given enough time to acclimate to her new circumstances and get a good view of the real Nightosphere, she opened a portal dead ahead. She heard Umay gasp in surprise as they shot through it, coming to an abrupt stop within the central hall of the citadel. 

Struggling out of her arms, Umay whirled around to see the portal disappear into thin air. She gaped for almost a minute before composing herself with a shrug and looking around. She regarded the rough stone walls, the dark empty spaces between sparse furnishings, and grunted, apparently unimpressed. 

Simon was waiting for Marceline and he began speaking before noticing the guest. "Ah, I didn't expect you back so early. I take it...Oh. Another one?" He made a moue, folding his hands together behind his back. "Really, Marcy. I know you learned a great deal from me, but are you sure you want to start kidnapping princesses?" 

"Hardee-har-har," she drawled in mock amusement. "Simon, this is Umay, a fertility goddess, formerly of the Sixteenth Level. Umay, Simon," she said, reversing the greeting. "There, now you know each other. Her kids will show up eventually. One of them was responsible for sending those jinn after Bonnie and I'm hoping he he'll take the time to think good and hard about how dumb that was." 

Umay folded her hands primly in front of her, regarding Simon without flinching. Then again, her brother had been a pig-faced troll, so Simon probably didn't seem all that different to her. She inclined her head in polite greeting and Simon did likewise. 

Simon looked at Marceline. "And did you feel a sudden need for a fertility goddess or is she a hostage?" 

"Hostage." 

He shook his head at her. "Being nice will get you trouble here." 

"Being mean didn't work either, Si'," she said facetiously, "so I might as well switch it up." 

"I'm assigning guards to monitor her actions and communications," he said testily. 

"Yeah, yeah," she said, waving a hand in dismissal, "I know. She might try and stab me in the back for killing her bro'." 

"And my children," Umay injected solemnly but without rancor. 

Marceline's step faltered and she didn't look to see Simon's expression. It wasn't that she didn't regret the decision, but this wasn't topside. The rules were different here. She had done what tradition demanded in order to retain authority over the Board. In turn, they would respect her more radical, personal choices. Ultimately, everyone in the hall knew that every individual that died went on to the Dead Worlds. That wasn't some dire fate, it was how life continued past the mortal plane and it was her job to send souls there after due penance. She couldn't let it eat her up inside, though she was willing to bet it would curdle less if she weren't part human. 

"Please do not allow my brother's disloyalty to cloud your judgment of me, Lord," Umay said in the face of Marceline's silence. 

"I won't, but Simon's right. Don't try to ditch your guards," Marceline said in warning, then grinned jovially, "or I'll cut off your legs. Anyway, Simon can teach you the local languages and, uh, don't get anyone pregnant. That's an order." 

Umay raised her brows fractionally, the hint of a smile crossing her lips. "As you wish, Lord." 

Simon held out a beefy arm crooked at the elbow. "Come along, ma'am. Let's find you a room in this monstrosity of a castle." 

Marceline huffed quietly at his display of gallantry, but left him to it. He would enjoy the company, even if Umay turned out to be a back-stabbing bitch. And if she weren't, she would have to find a way to get by in the city. A talent like hers would be quite valuable among some of the subspecies and smaller populations. No doubt the higher-ranking demon lords would start sniffing around too. 

She had one more stop to make, but at least that one didn't require theatrics. She wouldn't make a show of arriving. She wouldn't bring an army and make a fuss. There was another way to make Iblis's unlife miserable in a potentially satisfying way. Wrapping a hand around the amulet at her neck, she allowed her mind to drift outward, the demon searching the length and breadth of the Nightosphere. She was looking for one particular individual, one that might be inclined to do her a favor in exchange for one already provided. 

There. Still outwardly focused so she didn't lose track of her, Marceline opened a portal and floated through it, arriving in the outer reaches of Pandemonium. Below her, a roughly human-sized demon was wreaking havoc on a semi-sentient building that couldn't shuffle away quickly enough to escape damage. The building rolled its eyes and flapped its useless tongue at Marceline, begging for help, but she shook her head in refusal. 

The much smaller demon menace clung like a leech with her multiple tentacles, large, insectoid mandibles biting chunks out of the building. Dagger-like pincers stabbed at occupants cringing behind the windows or fleeing down the steps. The demon hissed in agitation, sensing a disturbance and swiveled her disjointed head around to face the newcomer. 

Marceline waved. "Hey, Gunter." 

Gunter blinked several of her multifaceted eyes, pausing in her methodical destruction of the building. 

"How would you like to go somewhere you could have totally unrestricted freedom to destroy everything you saw as many times as you wanted? No time limits. No waiting for stuff to get rebuilt and a way bigger playground," Marceline offered. 

Gunter unlatched several of her tentacles to swing her body around, coiling them against her trunk so that she resembled an especially gruesome flower hanging off a wall. "Where? When?" 

"Jahannam. Right now." 

"Allied realm?" Gunter questioned, chittering between her mandibles in doubt. 

"I have no idea how you got there. Do you?" Marceline said, feigning incredulity. 

Releasing a series of clicks that passed for laughter, Gunter let go of the wall, dropping to the uneven barren ground with a plop. "I go." 

Circling a finger in the air, Marceline generated a small portal beside Gunter. "Right through there, milady. Hugs'n'kisses." 

Scratching at her scalp again, she watched Gunter slither through the portal to make sure she went, then closed it behind her. She backed through her own portal, into the citadel and let it shut on a sigh. It wasn't as much as Iblis deserved. It was his realm that should have been razed out of existence, but maybe this was the same kindness she had shown Ganzorig. Let Iblis suffer the Sisyphean misery of Gunter in all her vile glory. 

It was done, for now. 

She headed straight for her quarters, right across the suite and into the ridiculously lavish bathroom. Water was a pretty hot commodity in the Nightosphere and most demons didn't need it, but she preferred not to stink like a carcass. Simon had given her an excited lecture once about filtration and recycling when he discovered the amenity, but she didn't care so long as it worked. She got the impression that Bonnibel would have some sort of engineering sciencegasm if she ever visited but that was about likely as rain in the Night. 

Normally, she enjoyed a long hot bath, dozing with the a pair of earbuds, but right now she wanted to be clean. She wanted the dried blood off her skin, out of her hair, along with the stench of smoke and sulfur. Pulling free the Amulet of Chaotic Evil, she looped the chain over a faucet and stepped into the shower. If she washed the crud off, if she just kept looking forward, she would feel better.


	7. Chapter 7

Finn jogged to the room he always woke up in if he hurt himself so bad that Bubblegum had to fix it. It wasn't officially his room or anything, but it contained a replicator programmed for his usual outfit and other useful stuff. He wanted to attend while Bubblegum worked on Janine and even though she was as much a mess as he was, cleaning up would be a race. She was efficient and had plenty of spare clothes. He also wanted...wanted...

He slowed, sliding two fingers under his hat to rub his temple, then rolled his head trying to stretch away the tension headache. For a moment, he stood there, his mind blanking as if he had blinked and everything had moved in that split second.

He narrowed his eyes, hackles up so that his own hair caused his neck to tingle. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, imagining his mind as a still ocean, surface reflecting back a starry sky on a moonless night.

Clothes. He needed a shower, some clothes and to catch up with QB before she donked things up. But bathing would take time, especially washing and drying his hair or...He pivoted to his left and slid into a nearby laboratory.

Finn swore to himself as he hopped into the Megasonic Cavitator — which Bubblegum had repeatedly warned him not to use in person — holding out his arms and squirming at the electric sensation on his skin. It left him clean but with an even worse headache, his hair standing on end and his clothes remained in torn shambles. After a sprint to the room that housed the replicator, he punched in his selection code with practiced ease and was still buckling his belt as he ran back out of the room.

"Pep-butt!" he bellowed into an empty hallway, then twice more before a wall swirled open in front of him.

"Yo," Peppermint acknowledged, down a narrow tunnel, chucking a charred skeleton through a portal.

Finn bit the inside of his lip. Yup, that was definitely a stack of burnt up demon bodies deep within a hidden cavern covered in runes and gemstones. His first thought was that Bubblegum would burst a vessel if she knew about it. His second was that she already knew and didn't care so long as Peppermint Butler didn't gork any of her business.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hold that door open for anyone to see, dude. Pick a direction." Peppermint dragged another corpse off the pile and threw it with a grunt and, "Ally-oop!"

Finn turned his body sideways and wedged his way down the tunnel until he stumbled into the small chamber, forced to hunch slightly. He had a burning suspicion, an awful lot like the white hot flames flickering around the edges of that portal. Maybe it was because his adventures had exposed him to sinister and tricky foes, but his hero sense was tingling like the back of his neck. 

He crouched on his heels, watching the butler work, but didn't offer to help. With his headache abating, he scanned the room thoughtfully, noting the many gemstones embedded in the walls as if growing in natural formations. He considered QB's increasingly common and wacky mood swings, her snap judgments becoming less practical and more likely to upset her subjects and allies. Her cutting pragmatism had developed a blunt edge and she had admitted to frequent headaches. Coupled with learning she hadn't been able to summon Marceline for half a year, and he suspected sabotage on a royal scale.

"You buggin' me for a reason?" Peppermint Butler prompted, setting his arms akimbo.

Finn glanced over his shoulder at the solid wall. "Qubes ever ask you to help opening a portal, or maybe to watch?" he blurted out rather than...than something? Something he needed before dealing with Bubblegum again. He shook his head as if it might jostle the memory free.

"I beg your pardon?" Peppermint responded, tilting his cylindrical body to better face Finn. "Her Majesty has never requested my assistance with a summoning after the initial arrangement. Not that it's any of your biz."

"So that's a no?"

Peppermint's eyes glowed red for a second before fading back to their usual opaque white. "Absolutely not. The Lord made it super clear that snooping would get me zapped. Is there something I need to know?"

Finn clasped his hands into a ball in front of his mouth, elbows on his knees. "You're pretty good at, uh, dark magic, right?"

"I might be," Peppermint allowed neutrally.

"Queebles told me that she's been trying to summon Marce but she won't show. Thing is, Marceline told me ages ago that she can't no-show when it's _that_ spell. Is it possible that maybe someone's messing with Bubblegum's head? Again? After all, now we know that other spells can open portals to the Nightosphere." Though Finn would wager his entire sword collection that Pep-butt knew multiple spells involving that realm.

Peppermint narrowed his now yellow eyes. "That is unlikely. As you know, the gemstone of her crown — and several others she frequently wears as ornaments — shield her from mind worms. But, there is another possibility."

Finn looked around again, a paranoid sense of being watched creeping over him. "Go on."

"A sufficiently powerful illusion spell. It would not require attempting to manipulate her directly and she gets so snobby about magic that she doesn't always...research it as much as she ought."

Finn scowled. "How'd you get the same idea? You been spying on us, Peps?"

Peppermint sniffed. "While you have not bothered to explain the cause of your suspicion, you are not the only one who has noticed something irregular about the Queen's behavior recently. Well," he sniffed again, "more irregular. Given the recent information that a human has been summoning demons, it would follow that some of those demons have probably been in the castle. I've a teensy bit more experience with that lot than our esteemed liege, so I've taken the liberty of questioning some of these bozos."

"The burnt up corpses you've been chucking through that hole? Those dudes?" Finn raised an eyebrow dubiously.

Peppermint barked a single laugh. "Nah, the damned can't die until the Lord of Evil herself wills it in final judgment." He examined his pointed nails. "These dudes didn't wanna talk but they're way more scared of Marceline than their own boss. Anyway, we've had jinn — invisible demons that can mess with dreams — loose in the castle for a few months."

"Okay, so that's bad." And it might explain that crawling sensation. "Are all demons wizards?"

"Good grief, no!" Peppermint tugged on his bow tie, standing a bit straighter.

"Dude, get to the point. I gotta catch Qubes before she rakes through Jan's noggin and she could be ready at any time."

Peppermint narrowed his eyes in consideration but didn't question Finn's urgency. "I am suggesting that a demon might have tampered with her summoning circle enough to disable it while simultaneously setting an illusion that would trick her into believing everything was hunky dory."

"But she'd test it upside down and sideways. She'd check the bug milk, the chalk, the incantation. She'd record herself saying the spell and everything."

"Which brings us back to mind control, perhaps through dreams and sublimation," Peppermint admitted.

"Sublimwhat?"

"Making someone have subconscious inclinations rather than making them do something outright, a technique that probs wouldn't work on QB. And as I keep saying, any number of demons are capable of influencing the subconscious mind. The stronger arch-demons can manipulate will directly but," he continued, obviously noting Finn's eager expression, "such a demon must be present. While the Lord may have fouled my ability to detect a lesser demon, I would have noticed an arch-demon what with being-" He coughed into his hand, clearing his throat. "We must also consider motive."

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that," Finn said, politely ignoring Peppermint's slip. "Some of the humans might want to get rid of Queebles just 'cause they don't like her but a demon's probs messing with Marce."

"Attempting to disrupt the continuity of Samael's dynasty," Peppermint supplied, as if it were the most obvious fact.

Finn thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Ugh. Are we talking about kids again?"

"Erm, yes," Peppermint admitted.

"Fine," Finn announced in a petulant whine. "Who's Samael?"

"One of God's arch-angels sent to rule over the Nightosphere," Peppermint said impatiently before continuing, "Hypothetically, if someone located a descendant along a demonic line they might have a chance of wresting control–"

"Wait, hold up a sec," Finn interrupted, thoughts piling up in a jumble. "If that Sam guy was an angel, does that make Marce an angel?"

Peppermint was silent for a moment before holding his arms out. "I dunno. Her dad couldn't sing, that's for sure."

"But..." he trailed off, sorting out the new bits of information. How did singing even matter? He recalled again what Jake had told him once about angels, how scary they were, almost like monsters if a person didn't know better. "But why would there be angels in the Nightosphere to begin with?"

Peppermint rocked back and forth on his heels, rubbing at a spot below his mouth where a chin might have been if he had one.

When it became apparent he was reluctant to answer that question, Finn asked, "Is it a big secret or something?"

Pep-butt smiled, his expression morphing into a full grin, torchlight glinting off his rows of fangs. "You're assuming the place is evil."

Finn crossed his arms over his knees, shifting from one foot to the other, mentally contrasting that non-answer against his own experiences in the Nightosphere. While Bubblegum's penchant for being overly bossy, oblivious to others feelings and sometimes dangerously unpredictable were legitimate concerns, it came down to Marceline being the Lord of Evil. If he were involved with one, he would see the other on a regular basis. He would witness the effect Marceline's evil nature had on Bubblegum. 

Would the latter's negative traits become amplified over time until she wound up becoming a tyrant he needed to depose? An uneasy, creeping chill crawled into his chest whenever he imagined her moral descent. He couldn't shake that fear because he knew that Bubblegum wasn't like him; she didn't have that innate sense of what was right. She did whatever worked.

But what if it wasn't an evil place? What it was full of evil creatures but actually neutral, or even chaotic good? He tipped his head slowly, as his thoughts circled back to Marceline, the one who lorded over evil, not the evil lord. He sucked in his breath, remembering every puzzle phrase he had ever decoded with Jake's help during a quest. 

He might have considered it further but his brain got the jitters so he glanced to Peppermint who was watching him patiently. "I'm not gonna abandon my besties," he stated firmly. 

"Fair enough," Peppermint said amicably. "So here's the dirt: way back in the beginning this mega-dude called God created everything, the mortal plane, the Dead Worlds and the Shadow Realms in between. He had these lieutenants called archangels and he put one in charge of each realm. He picked Samael, one of his most loyal and a scary mofo, to be in charge of the Nightosphere and Sam did an awesome job. He ran a real tight ship but got pretty down about how peeps called him evil just 'cause he had to do the poop job."

"So he turned evil for real?" Finn asked, leaning forward as he listened.

"Nah, he was super loyal to God so he kept doing the best job he could. See, when bad peeps die, they can't go straight to the Dead Worlds because they'd jack the place up. So they get sent to the Nightosphere where their souls get scrubbed clean, but it takes a lot of time and some pretty harsh methods. Evil's a taint, y'know? It gets in a person's soul and it doesn't wanna come out. It needs to feel so horrible to be in that soul that it checks out and says goodbye."

"Then, it's like soul-laundry jail?"

Peppermint stared at him, then chuckled. "I'm gonna have to tell the guys that one."

Finn allowed the aside to pass, staying focused on the subject at hand. "What happened to Sam dude?"

"There was a restructuring. He got promoted or something. Maybe even died. Dunno, but he made sure to leave a kid behind to take his place and an instruction manual for the job." He scratched his chin again, squinting. "Or maybe it's more like a vehicle that only takes the right pilot. But the angel kids, local demons and their affairs with humans whenever they escaped mixed everything together." He shrugged dismissively. "Anyway, it's Lady Abadeer's job now and thank Grod she came to her senses. Can you imagine all those poor souls ready to go to the Dead Worlds stuck in place because wah wah, I don't wanna be the Lord of Evil?" He blew a raspberry.

Finn held up his hand. "I get it. I think. If some demon lord could stop Marce from having a kid long enough to get some other descendant of the Sam dude the amulet, they could get control of the Nightosphere, sort of, by messing with the system."

Peppermint bared his tiny set of serrated teeth in another humorless smile. "Temporarily. The Amulet's got opinions of its own."

Finn shuddered in memory of being in the clutches of an enraged and affronted sentience. For all his willpower, he had been helpless as a meat puppet with the Amulet around his neck during his youthful misadventure in the Nightosphere. He had expected a gem of power, not some living thing like Ice King's crown. Yeah, it definitely hadn't thought much of him.

He raised his head, his mind stuttering and catching on the image of a gem before an involuntary blink wiped it away. "Could you break the spell?"

"Rest assured, assuming that's the case, I intend to do so immediately. I will also be on guard for any unusual mental energies. If that is all..."

An electric tingle down his spine made Finn crab-walk around, fingers braced on the floor for balance. He wriggled his back, trying to get rid of the sensation. Of course that trick didn't work for him because he wasn't a dog.

"Finn?" Peppermint asked in concern.

"We're being watched. Either one of them demons or usin' magic. I got gems for that sort of thing but all my stuff sorta got...exploded. Lumpin' nuts, I almost forgot." He smacked himself in the forehead. "I did forget. I need new protective gems!"

"In this room?" Peppermint challenged him incredulously. "Y'gotta be joking. We're shielded ten ways to Mars in here."

"I'm telling you, someone's watching! And giving me a headache whenever I feel like I want to do one thing but actually want to do another."

"And you conveniently forgot about the gems, of course?" Peppermint asked smoothly, his eyes recessed red glows within blackened pits as he scanned the chamber, perhaps searching for said intruder. 

"Yeah." Finn regarded him stonily, a part of him unconvinced of the butler's total innocence. Marceline's eyes did the same thing when she went full demon mode. She even called them demon-eyes. "You don't seem worried about the mondo spying. What's up with that?"

From what he had heard over the years, Peppermint had all the skills and connections to pull exactly the con he was describing. He pulled back mentally, withdrawing a measure of trust. There was no reason Peppermint couldn't be the culprit, the one playing mind-games with Bubblegum and trying to do the same to him. Heck, his foreboding sense had kicked in around the same time the butler must have begun chucking bodies, hiding the evidence and now he was trapped in this tiny dungeon. He had walked right into it like some newb.

Peppermint stuck his hands back on his non-existent hips and gave the impression of rolling his eyes, quite a feat given that he had no pupils. "Oh, now you think it's me," he guessed sarcastically. "So what's my motive, genius?"

Finn shrugged. "I know you could do all that junk and you've been stuck being QB's gopher since forever. You must be sick of it."

"Eh, it's a living. Besides, I can't double-cross QB. Like, it's impossible. But, if I really wanted to mess with those two, I'd snatch the queen, cut out her tongue, break her arms and legs and lock her in a vault. Then I'd kill anyone who knew the summoning spell. I wouldn't be able to kill her obvs — her soul is in escrow — but I could keep her from letting the Lord loose on the mortal plane. After that, the Lord would be stuck waiting and I could muck around as much as I wanted."

By that point, Finn had circled within the room to give his sword arm maximum range and was preparing to wreak havoc and slay the little turd.

"But I can't," Peppermint repeated, watching Finn's maneuvering with a casual air. "I'm cool with QB and, I gotta admit, Marceline's turned out alright. So, to answer your previous question, there was an uptick in underhanded dealings since Her Majesty's coronation during the Lich uprising and again after she publicized her arrangement with Lady Abadeer. A number of suitors have turned nosy and others resent that she was voted queen instead of them. I spend half my time getting rid of spy bots and magic spells these days." He let out a pointed sigh. "Good thing someone around here knows how to do that."

Finn pressed the hilt of sword against his forehead, concentrating and pushing back on that ugly paranoia. "And if I get all convinced you're the baddie, I might off the one dude who can defend her from dark magic. Got it."

"Dang, man, I didn't think you'd figure that out before I had to knock you out and make a runner," Peppermint said in a tone that almost sounded warm and complimentary.

Finn pushed off the floor, rubbing at his neck and trying to shake his unease. He knew about the suitors. Bubblegum complained about them often enough but he hadn't known they were getting all into her business. He scowled. "Don't they get that's she's already hooked up?"

Peppermint's expression grew oddly sympathetic. "Many do not perceive her relationship as being legitimate. That is to say, a political arrangement rather than a romantic one. It would need to be...more official to deter them"

"Oh my Glob," Finn moaned. "Why are peeps so dumb? It looks like she might be hookin' up so badger her more? That's the last thing she needs. Do they want her to go nuclear on their butts?"

Peppermint craned backward in amusement, arms crossed. His pale glowing eyes hooded, he asked, "If the notion of Her Majesty taking a suitor upsets you, then do something about it. Do not waste my time with churlish complaints."

"Do what?"

"I said, quit whining." He bowed perfunctorily. "If that is all, I have matters to attend."

"Gems!" Finn reminded him.

"Yes, yes," Peppermint assented with a dismissive wave of one hand. "Here, I've got a stash. Gimme your hat."

Finn handed over his headdress and watched Peppermint like a hawk as he poked out the bear's glass eyes and replaced them with blue crystals.

"Best I've got so don't be a jerkface," Peppermint declared, giving the headdress back to Finn. "I guess I could be lying but if QB's messed in the head then you can't trust what she gives you either. Out you go," he ordered, reopening the tunnel with a snap of his tiny fingers.

Finn wriggled backward out of the corridor until he stumbled into the main hall. After sheathing his sword, he jammed his hands into his pockets and fought the urge to glance around nervously for the umpteenth time. Technically, he trusted Peppermint to serve Bubblegum to his utmost, but something or someone was present. Someone had to be messing with her whenever she took off her crown, whether to give her head a rest or go to sleep. Maybe she took it off when calling Marceline, making her that much more susceptible to manipulation while trying to open the portal.

It would explain the way she came on to him earlier, too. If some dude wanted to keep her away from Marceline, then maybe he was a convenient fall guy. She wasn't gonna go for a random suitor but she was friends with him. Anger boiled up at the thought of losing that friendship, their happy medium, because some peep wanted to mess with his besties.

He gave into urgency and broke into a run, using his forward momentum to pound on Bubblegum's door as he rounded the final landing.

"What the stuff!" she bellowed in his face, throwing open her door. "Did something blow up again?"

"I gotta tell you something totes important," he wheezed. "In private." He glanced up meaningfully at the security camera pointed at her bedroom doors. "I don't think Jan's the real problem anymore."

Bubblegum held his gaze, then nodded. She took his arm, leading him into her bedroom. "Let's make this quick. Wassup?"

He turned to face her, opened his mouth and an odd series of sounds came out. Eyes up, he reminded himself, because Bubblegum was half dressed and her sopping wet braid was soaking the dress shirt she was wearing and wow that was really see-through.

"Get it together while I get some more clothes," she told him dryly.

"Uh huh," he squawked in agreement, then blew through his lips as he heard her using the sonic dryer, hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt. "Right, um, uh, I was talking with Pep-butt because you've been acting weird and he thinks a demon got through Janine's portal whenever she started and it's been messing with you since then," he began vaguely, uncertain which part was the worst.

Bubblegum smiled tolerantly, tucking her shirt into a new set of pants, bare toes peeking out from under the hems. "I've already considered that. My crown protects–"

"Not when you take it off," he interrupted soberly, sick and tired of her condescending dismissals. Maybe he kept telling her things she already knew but she didn't need to act like he was always wrong. "And, uh, oh man, I know you hate the m-word, but Pep thinks there might be magic involved and he says these kind of demons can mess with dreams."

"That' doesn't mean–"

"How long you been getting headaches?" He waited a split-second, expecting another dismissive response. "Maybe kinda forgetting what you meant to do for a sec? Feeling mad for no reason?"

Unexpectedly, Bubblegum fell silent, hands twisting together as she looked back at him. A muscle in her jaw trembled before she ducked her head in mute admission. "Then there's something you need to know." She took a deep breath, averting her gaze. "I think I had a vision this morning. Unless, as you suggest, someone's been rattling my brain. In which case..."

"You're not sure?" he asked with dread. Her visions were usually scary, prophetic and resulted in real life disasters.

Still avoiding his eyes, she continued. "It was definitely a dream when it started but then it got so real and horrible I thought it had to be a vision, but I didn't see or hear the Cosmic Owl. If it's mind-control, then it's just a nightmare but it felt real somehow. There was..." She shook her head, then sneered, "Magic. Right."

He grimaced, pointing out with reluctance, "Maybe I can help if you tell me what you saw? Or at least feel a bit better 'stead of letting it gnaw on you inside. Jake says that sharing problems makes them easier to deal with. You gotta know that by now."

She fidgeted, cheeks flushing as she nodded. "I was dreaming about Marcy, back when I was a princess and she was only a pesky vampire. She was visiting me while I worked and...and..." She clearly tried to speak several times then closed her mouth, nonplussed as her face flushed. She cleared her throat. "This is awkward. I thought I'd be able to tell you."

He realized he was blushing too and bit his lip. "Is it private stuff?"

"Heck yeah," she agreed quickly, pressing her palms to her bright pink cheeks. "This is dumb. You and her had a thing so this shouldn't be embarrassing."

"She's a sweetie," he said, by way of agreement, the words tumbling out without volition.

If nothing else, they distracted Bubblegum from her own nerves. She met his gaze directly, blinking several times before smiling almost shyly and ducking her head. 

She resumed pacing before saying, "The first part that really struck me was knowing my crown had been knocked off. Marcy will take it off me, sometimes, but she's always respectful about it. She asks first and never tosses it like garbage. It was such a strange detail for me to notice, y'know? If it's a subconscious reflection of...my opponent, then someone's pissed that I'm queen."

He nodded, aware just as she was that dreams often focused on trivial details that held no significant meaning. In a vision, on the other hand, every bit mattered. "Isn't that a bunch of people?"

"Not really. I didn't even run for it; they all voted me in without asking. Anyway, after, uh...stuff, it changed, it was more like a nightmare. I lead her to a solarium and killed her. I staked her and forced her under the sun until she was ashes. I felt horrible but I couldn't stop myself."

"Do you want her dead?"

"No! She's...she's one of my oldest friends. You know that." She closed her eyes, calming herself. "If we assume that it wasn't a regular nightmare, then someone hates that I'm queen and wants Marceline out of the way. Or they want me to be scared of her? To act super paranoid? But, I don't know if it's because she's a crazy powerful ally or if it's a more personal thing, like jealousy."

"And the dude's using me to help drive a wedge between you guys by getting you to mack on me," Finn added despite the hollow that opened up in his gut as he said the words.

Bubblegum stilled, expression locked in thought. "No," she countered slowly. "I've wanted to do that for awhile. A subliminal cue might get me to start something but can't force me to finish it. I want you but — and please don't take this wrong — you're mortal and you'll die in what seems like a short time to me. I can't help being aware that you're...temporary."

He sucked in his breath in a series of stutters through clenched teeth. A fact he already knew shouldn't feel like razor blades in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted out, "That really hurt my feelings and I want to get mad at you but I won't. I won't because it's true, but in this tiny bit of time I've lived, I've learned that it's important to go after the people you care about. Maybe they die, or they're butt-holes, or you hook-up and it doesn't work out because you both change, but you can't give up before trying."

"Yeah, I know," she agreed softly. "But it hurts when peeps die and Marcy's told me the same thing. It's something we both share. But it doesn't– I'm sorry. Finn, if whoever it is can't get to me and getting to Pep is impossible, then you're the next most likely target. I'll make sure you get some fresh gemstones."

"Beat ya to it," he assured, pointing at his bear's eyes.

"Good," she stated, then repeatedly more softly in apparently relief, "Good. I don't want to hurt you and...and I blew up your home. Are you staying here? Or with the humans?"

He wondered if she realized how hopeful that first question had sounded. "Not sure. I keep getting this creeped out feeling even with the gems and I think I should hang with the humans to sort them out after this mess. They gotta be shook up."

Bubblegum flipped her hands in the air. "I'm so used to being watched I don't notice anymore. It's either that or sink into complete paranoia," she joked weakly. "But you're right; they need a leader who knows what's going on."

Finn licked his lips, preparing to deliver what had to be the worse news.

She noticed and froze. "What?"

"We think you haven't been summoning Marce." As soon as he saw Bubblegum start shaking her head, he barreled on," You think you have. Pep-butt is checking for an illusion spell or something like that right now," he finished in a rush.

Bubblegum's fury began as a tremor of her shoulders, a dilation of her pupils so that her eyes seemed to brighten into sharp magenta. One eye twitched as she tried to contain the imminent outburst and then she whirled in an aimless circle, searching for a target.

Finn dodged an agitated fist before Bubblegum kicked savagely at the nearby vanity stool. The delicate seat went flying, striking the far wall and losing a leg. Bubblegum snarled in frustration, directing her building ire at him.

"This is what happens when you're one of us! Peeps attack you from behind, between every pleasant compliment and spy. They use me to get what they want, then act like I'm some sort of tyrant for doing all the hard work! This is what you're asking for Finn! Do you understand? Peeps think they're getting a fairy princess but it's all work, work, spies, kidnapping, threats, more work and total bunk! All I want is a little bit...a little..." 

She froze in place, hands spread out, watching how they shook and blinking rapidly. "Something for myself that no one will try and take," she finished tremulously, falling into a meditative breathing exercise.

He caught her by the elbows, guiding her into circle until he had wrapped her in his arms. He flinched when the tine of her crown collided with his chin, grimaced and jammed it more firmly onto her head using his jaw. Resting his bruised chin on her head, he waited as she shook and muttered in garbled German, stroking her tense back in an attempt to help.

When the rythym of her breathing eased and she rested her temple against his chest, he answered her question. "I'd rather do that with you than watch it happen to you." He felt her chest rise and fall on a deep breath.

"You willing to extend that same cooperative spirit to the Lord of Evil?" she asked wearily. "You realize she's not going to apologize for destroying that fleet. The War isn't history for her; she watched the humans slaughter each other."

The muscles in his arms twitched as he fought not to tense up. Trust QB to go straight for the kill. They both knew that Bubblegum might very well have done the same in Marceline's place. Of course he was Marceline's friend, but he liked the Lord of Evil even less than he liked official Queen Bubblegum with her syrupy compliments and brittle humor. He had grown up in both their awesome shadows, but those shadows kept getting longer every year. 

He remembered Jake explaining once that people were different on the inside and the outside and Finn had laughed. He had insisted that he would always be himself, failing to understand the protective armor and shell that came with being an adult.

She pushed lightly against his chest and he released her, politely ignoring the way she wiped a sleeve across her reddened eyes. She looked longingly past him at the far wall with its smiley face. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she straightened her shoulders and checked the fit of her crown.

Facing him with a troubled expression far more honest than her smug confidence, she recapped, "So, demons Janine let through prob jacked up the portal spell; those may or may not be the same individuals trying to jack my brain; and I've accidentally ignored Marceline for half a year in the process."

"Maybe."

"Maybe," she agreed. "Fine. I'll deal...We'll deal with it?"

"I'm always at your service, Your Majesty," he confirmed, a smile quirking his lips as he sketched a bow.

She laughed in a soft exhalation. "I need to get Janine sorted and set the village straight. What do you think about Lawrence?"

"You don't want to do that," he blurted out, responding to the chill that went through his gut, which got worse when she regarded him astutely. "I mean, I think he's a good kid. He turned in his own mom even though it tore him up 'cause he knew it was the right thing to do."

"Or he's looking for an opportunity of his own and knew I'd turn the village upside looking for the culprit."

He held up an accusatory finger, pointing it at her slowly. "That's not like you. You're seeing evil where my heart says none is but you're making it sound logical. Lawrence loves stories about knights and heroes and he thinks landing in a fairytale land like Ooo is the best thing that's ever happened to him. There's no way he'd want everyone in the village to suffer over one person doing wrong. He's not like that and you're not like that."

Doubt crept onto her face. "Making me see the worst in people," she spoke quietly, absently.

"Exactly!"

"It's what happened in the dream. I saw the worst and did the worst in retaliation but it all seemed to make perfect sense." She began to pace, hands clasped loosely behind her back. "Or is what I'm doing right now the reason?"

"Asking questions?"

"No, doubt and indecision. I've seen it drive the best people to insanity, destroy them as they destroyed everyone around them. On the other hand, it's kept me from jumping your bones despite Marceline saying that's okie dokie."

"No way," he negated. "You always find an answer or reason and never do stuff without one. Now that we know what's happening, you'll be back to your old self in no time."

"Unless I'm being influenced by subliminal programming," she countered wryly. "But you're right. There's no point dwelling on it."

"Yup," he agreed, "but I can take care of the villagers and make sure none of them know anything important. I'll check on Lawrence too, but I think you're barking up the wrong tree there. I promise to tell you everything I find out, even it involves a friend."

Bubblegum nodded in acceptance, gaze back on the far wall.

"Then you come back here, get Pep-butt and call up Marce, okay?"

"I already pushed back several–"

"Dude, you can't keep putting her last like that." He gulped at the simmering glower that snapped onto her face.

"I don't put her last."

"Sure sounds like you're putting everything else first," he rephrased, refusing to be scared off. 

In another surprise, she relented, dropping her eyes first.

He laid the tips of his fingers tentatively on her shoulder "You gotta call her, let her know we're all okay. And, if you don't mind, I can talk with her too? I know my brother says some dumb things but I'm pretty sure he's right about how important communication is."

She remained mulishly silent.

"Or are you scared to call her because you don't want to deal with the drama," he countered, losing patience. "'cause you're chicken?"

Bubblegum narrowed her eyes at him, stalking past. "C'mon. Let's get junk done."

He started to flap his bent arms and cluck.

"We're compromising," she growled. "It's an adult thing," she said, pausing in the middle of her room to face him. "First, we take care of Janine. I'll go with you to the village to demonstrate I'm maintaining authority, then symbolically transfer it to you."

He toyed with the hem of his freshly torn shirt. "Oh yeah. I forgot about that part."

"You really should think about what you're asking," she advised him solemnly, without a smile or friendly intonation. "That's your last warning."

"I've thought about it plenty," he said, adding, "It wasn't some spur of the moment thing, y'know."

"For more than fives minutes?" she drawled, letting him hear the bite of sarcasm.

He scowled. "Yes. I've thought about it for years, okay? That you can't keep trying to do all this on your own. The kingdom's too big; you're always mad that you can't do your own stuff; the smart candies are mad that you don't let them make their own decisions; Marceline's mad 'cause she's lost her freedom and I'm mad"

Bubblegum's eyebrows twitched up.

He swallowed back his admission.

"And you're mad?" she prompted softly.

"And I feel like I've lost both my best buds, even if I'm in the same room with you. I keep wanting..." He looked into his palm, fingers grasping weakly at empty air, before braving her judgmental gaze.

"Jealous?" she guessed.

"No."

"Finn?" she asked, approaching him hesitantly.

"Let me be a part of this. When the new humans need anything, they send Seth or Ruthie to ask me about it. When they need something from you, they insist I come along. Sometimes I catch Imtiaz giving me the skunk eye. He was an officer on the ship but now he's a regular Joe an' he hates it. He thinks I don't know, like I'm stupid or something, but I get it. He wants to be the leader but the others don't want him in charge. I think Ruthie would do it, but they're not really used to women being in charge. It's some weird social thing, or the law. I don't really get it."

"Legally mandated patriarchy," she supplied, interrupting his explanation while opening a nearby locker to select a pink half-helmet adorned by gold braiding and topped by a miniature gun. "Men are arbitrarily considered more competent than women in their society. It's an inefficient system."

"I guess," he permitted, "but it's what they're used to. That and having a leader, a town baron. They always want my advice on this or that and I spend more time in their village than adventuring these days. And you admitted earlier it would make sense."

"Yes, I did and it does." She buckled the chin strap, meeting his eyes from beneath a short visor that threw hers in shadow.

"But I think they need more than a baron, y'know? They're not another village of candy people. They're different," he continued to argue, while handing her the crown, which she snapped into grooves designed into the helmet.

"You don't need to explain," she cut him off, to forestall a tedious monologue before sitting on her bed to wriggle into some tall boots. "I'm well aware that the new humans are seeking to establish a sense of identity in a new place, within a strange and alien culture. They need direction."

"Except you don't think I can do it," he concluded glumly as she pulled on a formal jacket.

"I remain ambivalent," she equivocated, finishing her ensemble with a pistol and sword belted to her waist.

"Fine, but you gotta summon Marce and give her the low-down. And tell her that I'm not mad. What she did hurt 'cause I'm human, but I understand."

Bubblegum scowled, raising her chin and pushing past him and through the door. "You need better clothes."

Finn exhaled pointedly, falling into her wake.

* * *

Bonnibel and Finn passed between the two guards outside the brightly lit cell containing Janine Marino. She had the entire dungeon wired for electricity years earlier and, despite being underground, vermin were kept to a minimum, the facilities clean and tidy. While there was something to be said for a mood of terrifying gloom, dank filth and its demoralizing effect, it was also disgusting. Whether she used a prisoner to set an example or to serve as a test subject because they had been condemned to death, she preferred them clean.

Janine had been sitting on her cot when they approached but she stood when she saw the queen and her champion. Her face was set, pale but her eyes were creased with stubborn resolve.

"Janine Martino of the New Humans, you confessed to conspiring to commit treason against your lawful liege. The penalty for this crime is, traditionally, death by science but being sensitive to your low population density and being a merciful ruler, I am willing to offer you an alternative."

Bonnibel heard the guards beside her stir in curiosity. No doubt, the two banana men would gossip with their peers later, relating this unusual turn of events. By next morning, everything would be blown entirely out of proportion, the truth twisted into some bizarre fantasy that either cast her in glorious benevolence or madness. So long as her enemies found her unpredictable, she didn't care.

Janine worked her jaw in thought, breaking eye contact, dark hair sliding over her shoulder as she turned her head. "What is 'death by science'?"

"I would use you to test biological compounds or components that require a living subject capable of complex thought or communication. I would continue to do so until you died."

Face turning ashen, Janine stared at Bonnibel, then jerked her gaze at Finn. "Good lord," she breathed, eyes wide and fixed on the queen again.

"Death is simple and quick," Bonnibel pointed out calmly, "but what I do is a highly effective deterrent against high felony." She tipped her head, raising a rueful eyebrow before admitting, "I haven't had a test subject in quite a while."

Janine shook her head, a panicky, compulsive motion of denial as she stepped away from the bars to put meaningless distance between them. Down the hall, a bulb fizzled, issuing an abrupt crackle of energy and Janine's body jumped with spasmodic anxiety. She shook her head again, asking, "The alternative?"

"Also science," Bonnibel answered pleasantly, "but you'll survive, I think. I'll erase your mind – not the whole thing of course," she amended with a smile. "I'll look into your memories, locate all knowledge of portal magic or interaction with your demonic allies, and wipe it. Please understand, there is some risk of permanent damage and loss of tertiary memories."

By the time she finished, Janine had covered her mouth with a hand, her other arm wrapped around her middle. When she directed her attention to Finn, Bonnibel resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and check his silent communication. If he wanted to lead these humans, he had to understand the difference between being a friend and being a ruler. If he broke now, she would have her answer.

Whatever Janine saw in Finn's expression gave her no answer, because she turned back to Bonnibel with the same fear and dismay. "You're insane," she gasped, before clapping her hand back over her mouth.

Bonnibel shrugged, still wearing a reassuring smile. "This isn't a tyranny. You're entitled to your opinion."

"My choices are a slow death or a lobotomy?"

"I have no intention of lobotomizing you. That's a crude practice. What I intend should leave no physical mark or damage, unless I've miscalculated a setting, which is always statistically possible." Bonnibel rested a hand on her hip. "I'm waiting for your decision."

Janine swallowed, wrapping both arms around herself and pacing in a tight circle. She chewed on her lip and, barely meeting Bonnibel's eyes, chose, "Take my memories."

"Very well. Guards, escort her to laboratory four," she ordered before looking at Finn. "Will you be attending?"

"Yeah," he answered, subdued. "I think I should represent."

She nodded curtly and turned on her heel as the guards unlocked the cell, sandwiching Janine between them. Taking the lead, she headed for the laboratory exit that led to the scientific wing of the castle. As experiments could get messy, she avoided carting prisoners through the main entrance. The stairs were shallower, the walls wide enough to permit a stretcher or, in this case, a pair of guards marching a prisoner.

She reached the laboratory ahead of the group and immediately began sorting through equipment. She couldn't use the same techniques she had on the Lemongrabs. Humans were astonishingly fragile and incredibly susceptible to a wide variety of infectious agents. It was a miracle they survived past infancy, but she had a device she previously tested on flesh and blood species, including a goblin. She would need to recalibrate it for a human and had been itching for the chance.

When she heard the group enter, doors flapping shut automatically, she pointed at a chair fixed to the floor. "Sit her on there and strap her in," before going back to her equipment.

Finn veered away from the chair, clearly intending to speak to her.

She eyed him over top a cranial array she was checking over, her scientific curiosity washing away any patience for his misguided interference. "You have something to say?"

"You're gonna be careful, right? You know she has a kid."

"Lawrence, yes. I haven't forgotten in the past twenty minutes. Weren't you younger than him when you started going on dungeon crawls?"

"Sure, but I grew up in Ooo. I knew my way around. He–"

"Has an entire surrogate family to look over him, assuming he isn't old enough to care for himself, Finn," she said in a warning tone, loathe to treat him like a child in front of Janine.

"Yeah, okay," he conceded. "You know what you're doing."

"Yes," she agreed pointedly, pulling out another device and setting it on a wheeled cart. "I do, so don't screw it up for her," she warned quietly, while snagging a nearby office chair to send it skimming toward the restrained woman. A guard caught and stopped it.

Bonnibel pushed the loaded cart over to her intended work area, then went to dress for the occasion. She grabbed a lab coat from a hook and fished a set of spare glasses from the pocket. By the time she returned to the cart, she had the coat buttoned and the spectacles on her face. She motioned to the guards, dismissing them to the hall.

She picked up the cranial cap, pausing to note that Janine was panting, sweat beading on her forehead. Fear was so irrational in situations like this one. The entire flight or fight response was futile and she scowled when Janine tried to evade the cap.

"This won't hurt," she snapped. "Hold still," she demanded, hoping she wouldn't need to ask Finn to hold Janine's head in place. At least he was standing at a respectful distance.

"Oh God," Janine pleaded and Bonnibel fought the urge to correct her.

The greatest confirmed supernatural deity was Prismo and he wouldn't assist Janine in her predicament. Moving quickly, Bonnibel set the cap on Janine's head and began tightening down clamps. "Would you prefer to be sedated?"

"Oh God."

"I am not a god and none will help you. I repeat, would you like to be drugged? I can't have you unconscious, but I have some things that will calm your nerves."

Janine peered up, eyes bright and desperate but refused, "No. No drugs."

"Fine," Bonnibel dismissed, giving the cap a series of experimental tugs.

When it didn't budge, she raised the holographic display on the computer built into the neural spectrometer. Partway through changing settings, she sat in her own chair, ignoring both people so long as they didn't move. She toyed with one setting indecisively, then took a deep breath and picked the option she felt would cause the least harm. Leaning back, she wiped her palms on the fabric of her coat.

"I'm going to start," she announced as a courtesy.

Trapped within the chair, Janine clenched her hands on the grips as she pressed her head back against the rest.

Bonnibel activated the spectrometer and Janine arched in the chair, mouth open in a soundless cry. "Oops," Bonnibel said, adjusting the questionable setting rapidly until the woman sagged in relief, panting. 

Janine rolled her head toward Bonnibel in silent accusation as Finn hovered on the periphery.

"That should be the last surprise," she assured absently, watching the first images appear on her screen. "And, I'm in. Janine, I want you to focus on all your experiences that lead up to the recent incident. I will find all the relevant memories, but this process will be concluded more quickly with your cooperation."

Closing her eyes, Janine leaned back in her chair, hands curled into fists.

Bonnibel waited but when the holographic display remained a jumble of random, overlapping memories, she began reviewing and sorting them, filtering results until the computer caught the pattern and began assisting her. Part of her mind noted varied bits of information pertaining to human culture, but the bulk of her attention was on her stated goal. Each time she found a suspicious memory, she filed it for deletion. Periodically, she excised a batch and asked Janine to again recall what she knew.

By the time they finished, her eyes felt dry and gritty and her neck and shoulders were stiff from sitting at the computer. Janine was drooping in her chair, looking confused and Finn had slumped to sit on the floor against a cabinet. Bonnibel stretched with a yawn, noting the time. It wasn't that late at all, but it seemed like the whole day had passed due to the repetitive nature of her work.

Shutting down the screen, she pushed back her chair and sent it rolling back to the counter. She began loosening the cranial cap as Janine stared ahead, a perplexed expression on her face. She pulled against her restraints lightly, then glanced over at Finn.

"Please stay calm. You're not in any danger."

"Why am I here? What happened? I was making breakfast and...and...." Janine yanked her wrists again as Finn hurried over to help.

"Your memories are damaged. I was helping you with...a mental illness," Bonnibel prevaricated.

"What?" Janine struggled out of the chair before Finn had her left arm free. She jerked and dangled like a landed fish, desperate to escape the strange room and situation. "What are you talking about? I'm not sick!"

"You were, but I fixed it," Bonnibel said, maintaining her composure and watching placidly as Finn steered Janine back around when she tried to run for the door. "As I said, you're not in any danger. Finn and I will return you to your village."

"Law!" Janine shouted in panic, trying to squirm out of Finn's grip.

"He's fine," Finn spoke up. "Nothing happened to the village. Some ogres attacked me and the queen but we fought them off. You got caught in the crossfire and, uh, it turned out they'd been using you, using magic, to sneak close."

Janine had gone still, looking up at Finn and over at Bonnibel, uncertainly. "Why don't I remember?"

Bonnibel picked up the thread of Finn's story. "You won't remember anything involved with the mind worm the ogres used. I'm sorry."

"And I'm okay now?" she asked suspiciously, shrugging her shoulders to urge Finn to release her.

"You're not in any danger, now," Bonnibel promised evenly, then returned to putting away her equipment. "Finn, why don't you take our guest out into the courtyard and call Lady. I'll join you shortly."

Without looking to see if he consented, she busied herself shutting down and packing away her tools. She removed her glasses, massaging the bridge of her nose, then slipped them back into the lab coat pocket. Her hand froze over her breast as she looked out the window. The noon sun bore down, throwing the slimmest of shadows outside. The hair on her nape prickled in disquiet as she took off the coat and hung it back on its peg.

She blew air out through her lips making a rude noise and pushed back an errant strand of pink hair. Some days were entirely worth forgetting but she didn't have the luxury of using her own machine.

* * *

Outside, they discovered Lady and Janine in a staring contest. The rainicorn had landed her forequarters but her torso and hindquarters wound in the air, a breeze pulling at her golden mane and tail. The bright colors of her well-groomed coat glimmered in the sunlight, twisted horn glinting sharply. She was complaining in Korean, exasperation evident even if Janine missed the exact meaning.

"Finn, pick her up and put her on Lady's back. Janine, he'll keep you safe and Lady's not some dumb horse. She won't let you fall off, which you already know."

"You can't make me–"

Finn picked up Janine easily, hefting her onto the rainicorn's back and holding her there until she found her seat, hands in a death grip on the mane. He held Janine in place with a hand on her thigh before throwing a leg over Lady's back. Wrapping an arm around Janine, he slid both of them further back so that Bubblegum could take the lead position behind Lady's shoulders. Janine wrapped her legs tightly around the rainicorn, long dress riding up to reveal high-heeled black boots, and her arms around Finn's from underneath.

"You were saying?" Bubblegum asked facetiously, vaulting up ahead of them.

Lady unfurled into the air more slowly than usual, not from the weight — which was negligible to her — but as a kindness to her new passenger. She took the lowest safe altitude, skimming over trees and grumbling sour complaints as Janine shrieked and protested every leg of the journey. Despite the recent grim events and discoveries, Finn heard Bubblegum laughing at a few of the more acute suggestions, which he pretended to misunderstand.

In short order, they were landing outside the human town as its residents spilled out to investigate their visitors warily under the watchful guns of the mechanoids. Bubblegum slid off first, apparently entrusting Finn to escort Janine, and stepped forward to assume a position of authority. She waited in a relaxed stance as the humans crowded together behind Seth and Ruthie, except for Lawrence, who ran forward to embrace his mother.

Finn smiled, hands on his hips as he watched the boy start to dance around his mother in circles. He screwed that smile in place when he noted the somewhat vacant look of confusion on Janine's face, the way she looked around the town in wonder as if seeing it for the first time. While she obviously recognized her son, there was puzzlement there too over his behavior and some of the things he was saying as he described the morning's events.

Janine abruptly faced Bubblegum while backing away warily, making an odd hand gesture. "Abomination," she hissed. "What did you do to me?"

Bubblegum blinked, her smile fading as her expression set. "I didn't execute you, is what I did. I saved your life because your son loves his mother."

Janine wrapped an arm around Lawrence's shoulder, tucking him against her skirts. "As if you know aught about love."

Finn heard the bones crackle in Bubblegum's hand as she curled it into a tight fist, that quiet pop of flesh and blood a tiny reminder of her new reality. He wondered if she was as comfortable with her far more human body as she seemed, if she truly grasped its limitations. She certainly hadn't seemed to realize that a hacked limb was a life-threatening injury.

Seth and Ruthie traded a series of nervous looks before Seth was obviously shoved from behind by his wife's hand. He took a fortifying breath and greeted, "Your Majesty."

"Mister Mac'n'tire," she returned with a gracious nod, unfurling her fingers. "As you can see, I've returned Miss Marino. I was able to find a method to deal with her actions that did not result in her death, but make no mistake, this is an act of mercy and kindness on my part," she continued in a lower, measured tone, enunciating each word of her warning, before continuing.

"I have studied your culture, your people and I understand both your reasons for coming here and that you might underestimate me. That some of you might see me as a pretty, pink figurehead, smiling and waving at the masses without any true concept of life and hardship. Perhaps you see a woman and assume I am less able to rule or make troubling choices, so I will tell you this once. I am older and more experienced than your grandparents' grandparents. I have built my kingdom, seen it through considerable change and it has not yet ended. I learned early in life never to forgive an enemy or to permit one to operate within my boundaries. I strive to be fair and open to change, but defy me again and I will destroy you."

Finn felt more than saw most of the assembled town folk look at him for confirmation and he did his best to imitate Bubblegum's patented polite smile. They would read as much if not more into his fancier clothes and his refusal to challenge anything she said or did.

He raised one shoulder briefly in acknowledgment, feeling his the corner of his cape slide. "She's mostly super nice but totally metal and always keeps her promises. You guys remember when she first helped you set up this village, right?" Without waiting for confirmation, he increased his projection, "She promised to help you and she totes has. I know you guys didn't have cool stuff like fancy bathrooms, electricity and free houses where you came from. She doesn't wanna take anything back, but she takes caring for her peeps real serious. She won't let one bunch hurt another bunch." He hesitated, then concluded, "Not even for my sake, but she's not your enemy."

Bubblegum's smile twitched back to life. "I feel alliance would benefit all of us far more than fear or hostility brought about by misunderstandings. To that end, I am inviting all of you to a concert that will be held out here in the grasslands next week. You will be informed of the exact details when they are finalized and I strongly encourage you to attend," she finished in a tone that brooked no argument.

The humans traded puzzled looks, the group shifting and moving as they spread out a bit. Ruthie eyed her suspiciously, speaking up, "What sort of concert?"

"A music show," Bonnibel opened her mouth, then shut it on a laugh. "The music will seem strange to you, but I can assure you'll find it enjoyable. The grasslands are considered neutral ground so everyone will be invited under a strict non-aggression pact. It will be your opportunity to meet the varied citizens of Ooo and learn some new dance moves."

"Alla weird critters will be there?" shouted a man from the back of the group.

"You're the strange critters from our perspective, Mister Lopez. Ooo's ecology thrives on variation. It's nothing to fear."

Finn heard him grumble but he didn't raise further protest, despite the blatant lie. Humans were vulnerable prey for many creatures in Ooo and had been hunted to extinction. Whether they realized it or not, they desperately needed the Candy Kingdom.

Bubblegum looked back at Seth and Ruthie with the barest hint of a dip to her chin. "I have business to attend back at the Castle, but I believe Lord Finn intends to remain with you for the evening." 

Turning her back on the humans, she returned to Lady and mounted as the group congregated around Finn. He watched them lift into the air and circle once before heading back for the castle. As the humans closed ranks and began to pepper him with questions, all he could think was that she had addressed him by rank. He hoped that meant he could wake up the Banana guards and send them back to wherever Candy Kingdom mechanoids hung out.


End file.
